IQ : Unbeatable
by Wraithlike
Summary: Failed super-geniuses band together for safety, in the beginning. But then it's more. A family. And family doesn't let it's members get hurt, or lost, or fall in love. At least not without a huge fuss. Matt and Mello know this, now. Complete! Mello X OC X Matt
1. Phase 1: Excecution

**Thanks for all the reviews, guys, please keep them coming. If you're new, well, welcome aboard. Dive right in, s'aaaaaall good. ;)  
**

**If you like it, make my day. Tell me. If you hate it, tell me why. Just a review, to shed some light on the situation. I'd really appreciate it.  
**

**Title: **IQ : Unbeatable

**Summary: **Matt and Mello are stumbled upon by a group of geniuses who for one reason or another weren't good enough to succeed L. An unlikely and uncomfortable alliance forms in time, as Matt and Mello observe behaviours more common place in the family home than super genius headquarters. And, unwillingly or not, they're getting pulled in one way or another.

**Pairings: **... That depends, now, doesn't it? You tell me. Either Matt or Mello will get a girl, but I don't know which girl, or which boy. You have to give me your thoughts. ;) Could be some slash in here, too, but it won't be any canon characters. I'll keep you warned.

**Rating: **T. Just for language at the moment. It's Mello, you know.

**Length:** ... who knows?

**Songs: **You can get the actual playlist for this fic as I update it at the address found on my home page ... but the songs for this are: The Mission Impossible Theme, and Secret Agent Man. ;)

**PLEASE HELP ME, I CAN'T ENCODE THE ADDRESS ONTO MY NOTES. Someone tell me how, and I swear to God, I'll give you a cameo. :0)**

**Shout out to:** Hmmm ... well, P.T. still because she actually towed me through the Irish Sea and a pitch black tunnel that was three feet tall. I seriously owe that child. I clawed you onto the thirty foot in the air pizza box, though, and you're very welcome to my wellies ... but I have your swimsuit ... gah! I'll make it up to you. ;) Also to Lexy because I just read all 25 chapters of her fiction and was then inspired to write my own Mello story. Thanks hun. And I totally stole your end quote idea, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you too, I SWEAR! Also, to you, reader! PLEASE REVIEW! Enjoy.

**IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE, REVIEW IT. SIMPLE AS. ENJOY!

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Phase 1 : **Execution **

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_Failure is not an Option._

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Carpal tunnel. Carpal tunnel. Carpal tun-

Six years. She had been basically typing non-stop for six years, and the novelty had worn off long ago. But really, there wasn't much else you could do when you were a super-genius who found crossing short distances difficult. Sure, you could sit safe at home, and you didn't need to go and risk your life _all of the time _as a walking operative, but you didn't have to kill the nerves in your hands by typing for four hours at a go. Or meticulously copying handwriting. Or forging legal documents.

Didn't have to kill the brain with boredom, either.

Sigh.

Charlise leaned back in her chair and stretched luxuriously. And rather painfully, she had to admit with a stab of guilt. She had missed her physiotherapy session again. That was … three … four times, now. But this time, for a good cause, at least.

She was alone in the headquarters for once, with all of her associates embroiled in various nefarious deeds … well, rather this one heist.

Technically, she was too. But Crash was supposedly in charge, this time. Ha. She was awaiting the call to tell her he was getting bored … But she still appreciated his offer of co-ordination. It got tiring having to be on top of things at all times. And very, very stressful, especially when you were trying to simultaneously run two very different projects and maintain guardianship of one troubled French boy into the bargain.

She was still doing her part, though, bringing down a few necessary systems and firewalls, easy stuff, but she couldn't start the hard part of her plan yet. Apparently one of the fellows they were trying to get on board was a skilled hacker; no doubt exceptionally more skilled than she was; her knowledge rudimentary at best, ineptitude otherwise. She couldn't start the serious hacking because he'd just counter hack and infiltrate their systems in a few seconds. She just had to confuse him, give the illusion of something being awry just enough to make him puzzle, and then everyone else came in. Hopefully. Fingers crossed.

The screen to her right, with it's large cartooned sheep background flashed suddenly, and her contact page came up.

A simple blue background with 'Les Insurmontables!' emblazoned on it in a bold grafitti font flared up, and Charlise barely had time to scoot her chair over to it before Crash started talking.

'Charlise, do you copy?'

The red-haired girl sitting in the quiet and classy headquarters of Operation IQ in New York City took a moment to remember how to speak English before replying.

'Roger, Crash, I read you loud and clear.'

'Great. Just so you know, this is going to be a total bitch of a mission.'

'Oh, no. Why?'

'Well, I'm bored, and suck at co-ordination. Cheshire has lost the charges –'

'You're not serious.'

'Deadly serious. She's lost the charges, Austin is having issues with the security system, and Twix is hanging outside the window as we speak, trying to figure out how to get in without the charges.'

'… oh.'

'Yeah.'

'So … what do you do now?'

'Well, the God's honest, Charlise, is that you're in charge, now. As usual. Sorry, but seriously? This is just going to fail epically if I try to run things. So, really, we're all just waiting on you to tell us what to do. To direct, as it were.'

'… right.'

Charlise slumped back over her computer chair feeling tired, fed-up and like swearing loudly and violently in French for a while would be a thoroughly exciting prospect.

'Yeah. Don't worry, me and Paris are fine, at least. He's outside the building right now, and the one called Matt's already walked past him without batting an eyelid.'

'Oh, well _that's_ just _great_.'

'Yeah. I'm good too, though.'

'Thanks, Crash. That makes things hella easier.'

Crash laughed, a long booming laugh, as Charlise feverishly spun her chair over to her desk, and starting bringing up the cameras and info all the five member of her force, making short noises of distress as she did so much to Crash's amusement.

'Oh, come on, Charlise. We all knew that things were going to be tough. And … really. You knew you were going to have to take over at some point.'

'Yes, yes, but Crash, seriously … you're doing _surveillance_. So you're kind of supposed to tell me when things are about to go very wrong. Actually, you're supposed to tell me before things go wrong so I can _fix them_. Oh, you're right. I should have known. Silly girl that I am.'

She worked furiously as she spoke, and had now a lock on everyone's position and status. Without giving Crash a chance to respond, she smacked the speaker button in the middle of her keyboard, and saw everyone on screen move slightly as the three beeps sounded in their ear to warn them of the incoming broadcast.

'Crash, copy,' she said, bringing up the tab of her hacking into the apartment's access, and glancing at the window showing Crash. He was sitting hunched in the dark surveillance van surrounded by screens, leaving an unnaturally pale glow on his dark skin.

'Copy.'

'Cheshire, copy.'

The slight Japanese girl was sitting demurely in the passenger seat of a mind-blowingly expensive car that still managed to convey subtlety. Her hands were folded over her lap, and her dark glasses had a tasteful label running up the rims.

'Copy!'

'Austin, copy.'

Blonde-haired Austin was sitting in the lobby of the apartment block, his eyes closed, and Charlise knew he was running a map of the place through his mind.

'Copy.'

'Twix, copy.'

'Copy,' she whispered, and Charlise could see the blonde twin girl crouching under a window sill of the apartment, ten stories off the ground, looking rather at home.

'Paris, copy.'

The dark artsy-looking man was loitering casually just outside the block, surveying all who passed by leisurely. He ran a hand through his silky dark hair, and winked in the direction of the camera.

'Copy.'

Charlise felt slightly more relaxed.

'Okay. Crash, time.'

'Eleven fifty-one,' he stated clearly, turning to address the camera feeding back to Charlise.

'Twelve's still the target time, kid.'

A knot of anxiety churned the red headed girl's stomach, and she let out a shaky breath.

'Okay. We have nine minutes, if we want to keep this thing on schedule. Okay, well, we have our plan … and then there's our forty percent margin of error that we have to work around. Because Murphy's law is being cruel to us … Alright. The maximum formulation won't add to more than seventy percent, so be prepared to endure a thirty percent margin of improvisation, mes amies.'

All five faces flickered into a smile at her peevish tone and suddenly dip into colloquial speech.

'Austin. Weakest entrance.'

'Balcony, no question. Three glass doors.'

'Too obvious. Second weakest.'

'West bathroom. The least likely to be noticed.'

Charlise thought for a moment.

'Cheshire.'

'Hai!'

'The charges?'

'They're in my hand …'

'What? Crash, what the hell?'

'Wait, wait, I thought you lost them!'

Cheshire looked annoyed, and began lecturing. Charlise briefly entertained the thought that anyone passing her car would be gifted with the sight of a small blind Japanese girl making angry conversation with empty air.

'No, no, someone placed them in excess of six centimetres from where I thought they were, further than my hand reached in searching, so I thought they were gone. _People should not move my stuff._'

'But you have them?'

'Yes,' she confirmed, holding them out for inspection. Charlise glanced down at the screens, selecting an appropriate messenger. Her gaze rested on the handsome man still standing benignly outside the block

'Paris. Run to Cheshire. She's right, straight, first right, left side of the road.'

'I'm on it.'

She watched the slim man sprint elegantly down the road, and her gaze travelled to the screen below him, where Austin, the flaxen-haired Alaskan twin of Twix was filing magazines into categories on the coffee table of the apartment lobby. She shook her head in disbelieving silence. Geniuses were so weird.

_Mon Dieu. _

'Austin, relocate, tenth floor, now.'

'Charlise, Mello just walked in,' he informed her, glancing up and speaking in a low voice.

Charlise's stomach dropped, before she rallied.

'Okay, okay, fine. Get into the lift with him, now. Go to the tenth floor. Walk to your left when you get out. _Go_.'

'Roger.'

She watched Austin stand and stride towards the elevator, and let her gaze rest for a moment on the strangely dressed young man, the Second, as she had been informed by the new Watari, no less. Wasn't made of such steel as the old one, apparently. But then again, Chalise was far too gifted a liar for anyone's good, really.

The leather-wearing man stepped into the elevator and pressed the up button quickly. An idea hit Charlise. Anything to buy time.

Scooting quickly to her hacking window, it only took a few seconds to disconnect the signals from the elevator leaving the two blondes trapped at level two, with no choice but to call for assistance. Austin took a moment to wink into the surveillance camera to show he was on board with Charlise, even as he ranted bitterly in agreement with the Second.

'Paris?'

'Copy.'

'Position.'

'Lobby.'

Charlise glanced over to his panel on her screen and saw him standing perfectly at his ease against a wall, looking absolutely collected. For a moment, she envied him. He was easily the most suave person she had ever met. And he had also sprinted to Cheshire and back in under two minutes.

'Got the charges?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Fifth floor fire escape. _Run like hell._'

'On it.'

Paris took off again, and Charlise wiped her forehead.

'Crash, time.'

'Eleven fifty-three.'

'Oh, Jesus. Cheshire.'

'Hai.'

'Probability of this failing?'

'Fifty-two percent.'

'Oh, crap.'

'And falling! Be positive.'

'Thanks. Twix?'

'Charlie?' the girl whispered.

'Twix, abseil five stories down. Get the charges from Paris, and bring him up with you.'

'Got it.'

'Paris, progress?'

'Third floor.'

Charlise glanced over to check on Austin, just as the Second wrenched the door open furiously, and stalked out to use to stairs. Charlise jumped.

'Austin, fire escape, fire escape, do you copy? Use the fire escape to level seven, and I'll get the elevator back online.'

'Copy,' the blonde said, quietly, racing stealthily down the corridor.

'Paris?'

'Twix sighted!'

Charlise watched as the blonde girl grabbed Paris, and the two winched themselves upwards.

'Crash, time!'

'Eleven fifty-six.'

'Abandon vehicle, make for the lobby.'

'Roger.'

Charlise rubbed her nose and aching eyes. She had stayed up way too late last night to be dealing with this. This was definitely a job for someone more chipper and caffeinated that she was.

Twix sprang to mind. With the possible exception of a very drunk Paprika, who was currently infiltrating the good old Special Provision force for Kira, Twix was hands-down the happiest person Charlise had ever known.

'Okay, okay. Paris, head for the west side. Take the laptop. Twix, keep half the charges. Go towards the balcony.'

Charlise tapped at the keyboard for a moment, bringing the elevator back online in time for Austin to catch it.

'Hold it at level 10, Austin.'

'Roger,' he said, climbing in.

'Cheshire. Arm the explosives, and pull up outside the apartment.'

'Hai.'

'Crash? Time.'

_Sip. _'Eleven fifty-eight.'

Crash was sitting down in the lobby, drinking a cup of coffee, looking very at home, as the woman sitting opposite him cocked her head in askance. Charlise sighed. If only she had time to berate him.

She quickly entered the code to run her hacking program and set it off to do it's work. Having been unable to place cameras inside the apartment, she had to rely on chance too much for her liking. Especially when not five seconds had passed before she was being counter-hacked.

'Damn it!'

She quickly terminated the program, and sent up her own firewalls and protections, but she knew well enough they wouldn't stand for long.

_A damned shame, _she thought, wistfully. That hacking program had cost her days to design, and he had gotten in a second or two after he realised what was happening.

Charlise watched the Second slam into the apartment and knew her time had come to act.

'Cheshire, are you armed?'

'And ready.'

'Okay … fire!'

The flare shot straight up, exploding outside the kitchen window of the apartment. She knew both would be running to see what it was. As was wise, really. These were dangerous times. No thanks to her.

'Paris, get in there.'

'On it, chief,' he said, and she watched through his personal surveillance camera as he deftly popped the glass out and slithered through, carefully replacing it behind himself.

_Such a cat-burglar._

Him _and _Twix. Charlise thought for a moment what a crying shame it was that so many super-geniuses turned to a life of crime instead of putting their prodigious talents to good use, saving lives, or something.

'Place the laptop on the main table. Twix, get in there now. Paris, hide to the right of the door.'

'Roger!'

'Roger.'

Twix set her explosives at the balcony as she had planned, and raced to climb into a bedroom, placing charges beside an important computer, sheaf of documents, under a desk and on the door handle, before racing through the rest of the apartment to booby trap almost everything within. Twix was fast, deft, precise and sharp as razor blades. Nothing fazed her, and she was an invaluable member of their team.

'Paris? Progress.'

'Both of them are trying to figure out what's going on, a little panicked. Red head is hacking. Blondie is looking around. I just saw Twix, but they missed her …'

'Cool. Crash, time?'

'Twelve.'

'Excellent. Twix, terminate setting of explosives.'

Her own personal surveillance camera showed her hand reaching forward to smack a glob of C4 onto a pillow before turning to leave the room.

'Sounds good, captain.'

'And hide. Paris, get ready.'

'Roger.'

'Austin, remain in position.'

'Roger.'

'Crash, same to you.'

'Roger.'

Charlise sighed. She hated this part. If someone was to come in and start blowing _her _headquarters … well, actually, if they did, she'd probably die, being incapable of dodging debris or fleeing … at all.

Still. Failure was not an option.

'Cheshire, set off explosives, level E.'

'Roger. With pleasure.'

_Crash._

She watched through Paris's personal camera as a vase, clock, and chair exploded, thanks to Twix's swiftly places plastic explosives, and for the first time, heard the voices of the Second and Third clearly.

Well. The Second, really.

'What the _fuck _is happening?'

Aaaand … she had to admit, she was very impressed. His gun was already out, and she hadn't even been positive he was wearing one. And he was already hiding his face in shades. Bit late, though.

She swiped a few keys to start the programme on the laptop lying inauspiciously on the table.

The opening notes of the simple theme (_thanks, Dixon_, she thought proudly. He was a talented boy, that much was certain) played their few seconds of gentle melody; just enough to grab the attention of the two men, who turned silently to stare at it, both likely wondering how the _hell _they hadn't noticed it before.

A deep, empowering feeling of peace washed over Charlise, as she hit another key on her keyboard, popping the screen of the laptop open slowly, and starting up the contact program for which she had paid an exorbitant amount of money. The creator had been talented; a friend of Dixon's, in fact. Talented … but not as talented as this guy. He was sort of in a league of his own.

A league she wanted to have on her side.

The lingering notes faded, and she knew her self-designed background must have popped onscreen; the large and not exceptionally original 'C' in an elaborate font. Good old Microsoft word's Old English Text. L, Watari, Near … as far as she was aware, they were forming their very own unofficial fan club of this particular font.

A moment, to let the uncertainty set in …

She smiled, leaning forward. This was by far her favourite part of the operation. The part where _she _was in control. When she got to negotiate, communicate. The part where she didn't have to blow things up.

'Greetings, gentlemen. It's nice to finally meet you.'

The part where she could watch their faces _drop_.

xXx

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_There's a man who leads a life of danger  
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger  
With every move he makes another chance he takes  
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow …  
- Secret Agent Man, Johnny Rivers  


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**A/N: Hope you liked it. Do tell. I'm simply dying to hear. **

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	2. Phase 2: Alphabet Explosions

**Okay. I hope you like this one. It's shorter, but consider it a test. If it gets reviewed, I'll put up more. Come on folks. I'm trying my best here. Call it either way!**

**Pairings: **Any ideas?

**Rating: **Still T. Mello likes to swear, still.

**Songs: **Again, playlist on my page, please tell me how to encode it. The ones for this chapter are ABC, by the Jackson 5 (I know, so cute! You'll understand when you read it. A dark humour) and The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani. ;)

**Shout out to: **Hibari-chi, who put it on alert ... thanks for that, and also VampyViolet ... I haven't heard from you, but thanks for the favourite and give me a shout!

**And I just remembered: I don't own Death Note.  
**

**YOU LIKE? DO TELL. REVIEWS ARE A GIRLS BEST FRIEND!

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Phase 2 : **Alphabet Explosions**

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_The Ends Justify Blowing Shit Up._

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Paris watched, silent observer of the two men's reactions from the shadows of the door, and smiled slightly as he heard Charlise's gently accented voice issuing from the laptop, not announcing by any means that she had just single-handedly pulled her force together in nine minutes.

'What the …' the red headed one blinked, his mouth hanging open while Blondie panted, his gaze searching the room. Paris stiffened in the darkness and concentrated on breathing silently.

'Don't look at it! It has a camera on it!' Blondie growled at the red-head, wrenching him away from the laptop. Both men regarded the device suspiciously from across the room.

'Don't be alarmed, please!' Charlise implored, her voice dangerously sweet, as ever. That was one thing Paris had always noticed about Charlise. She seemed far too sweet to be capable of making decisions or taking charge, but that was how she had survived this long. She had always taken charge when no one else would. But this hadn't broken her. She was still the serene, mild girl she had always been, despite the obstacles and challenges thrown in her path, and Paris knew there had been many. And yet, she still detested this. He could hear it now in her voice. That peaceable, gentle voice, so agonised at having to cause them distress.

'We mean you no harm, my team and I. Honestly. Please believe me.'

'Then why the _fuck_ did you break into our apartment and start blowing shit up?' Blondie demanded of the screen. Charlise sighed.

'We had to get your attention in a way that we could be assured you would listen. It could be done by no other method.'

She paused for a moment.

'Sorry about the chair, though.'

Paris smiled.

'Whatever. What do you want? And who sent you? How did you get a laptop in here? And who are you?'

Charlise paused a second too long, to show that she was thinking. Paris watched the two men staring intently at the screen, and saw in the doorway behind them Twix pause for an instant, raise her eyes to heaven and walk back down the hall, utterly silent.

'That's a lot of questions,' Charlise reasoned, quietly.

'But I suppose they deserve answers. However, I have questions for you too. I would be greatly honoured if you would consider accompanying my team back to our headquarters for discussions.'

'No way in hell! What's wrong with you?'

The blonde one was under pressure; blue eyes darting, while the red-head looked nervous and suspicious.

'Very well.' Charlise sounded weary.

'Cheshire, level D.'

_Bang! _

More explosions. Both men shouted incoherently and covered their faces. Paris, who knew where all the charges were, merely grinned, and shifted more comfortably against the wall.

A printer. A microwave. Another chair. A coat stand.

'Sorry again,' Charlise said, sounding regretful. 'It's such a waste, I know, but you can't talk these geniuses out of their plastic explosives …'

Paris smothered a laugh. More like you couldn't talk Cheshire out of her plastic explosives. She insisted it was the noise they made that was so enrapturing. Well, being blind he supposed she was entitled to find pleasure in whatever sounds she liked.

He still thought she was weird.

'Sweet Jesus!' The blonde man was enraged.

'Okay, look, let me make things easier for you. I have had my operatives set up five levels of explosives in your lovely home. E, D, C, B, and A. E was the least damaging. Things you don't need. However, the longer you refuse to co-operate with us, the more things are going to go ka-boom … and level A is the irreplaceable stuff. Hard drives. Documents. All that happy stuff.'

The men were shocked to silence. Charlise sighed again.

'Look, seriously, don't make me blow them up. I'm not exactly a trigger-happy kind of chick, here. I just want to talk to you. Seriously. That's all!'

'Who are you? Who sent you?' the blonde haired man demanded, picking through the growing pile of debris to point his gun into the shadows. The red head remained by the wall, either locked in by terror, or unwilling to navigate the destruction.

'My name is Charlise,' she admitted, and Paris could imagine her cramped posture as she would be leaning over the mic, trying to infuse her voice with all the necessary optimism and persuasion.

'And in short, I organise a team of investigators from all over the world, bent on the same thing as you.'

'Which is?' Blondie insisted, moving a curtain aside with the barrel of his gun.

'To restore the normal order of this world. To rid the world of Kira. To beat Near.'

'Sorry. We don't do alliances,' the man spat, casting about with increasing annoyance.

'We only want to talk,' Charlise said, quietly.

'No discussions!' the man yelled.

'Comme vous voulez,' she sighed. _As you wish_.

'Go ahead, Twix. I know you're dying to. And Cheshire? Level C.'

In the resounding explosion, Mello hardly even heard a chirpy female voice calling out, 'Hey, thanks Charlie!'

Mello dived towards the wall for support as the _boom _sounded. The television. A computer next to it. An explosion from … his room?

And when the smoke cleared, Mello thought he was going to scream. Because there, on the other side of the room to him was Matt, with a tall blonde girl entwined around him in what would be an embrace if it wasn't for the industrial gun in her hands.

She was giggling.

'Oh, oh, Charlie, Charlie, just let me tell Austin that he totally owes me a twenty.'

The girl in the laptop sighed.

'For God's sake, Twix … anyway. Listen. _I don't want to blow anything else up. _I now have Matt's life under my command … and I'm so sorry I have to blackmail you like this. Look, I have a brother myself, and if someone was doing this to him, I'd be completely beside myself …'

'I don't _care_! What do you _want_ from me?' the man roared.

'All we want is to talk to you! We don't want to harm you, or your friend, or to blow up your home … just hear us out!'

'Fine! Talk.'

Charlise groaned in frustration.

'I can't! This is going to take a hell of a lot of explanation. Please. One day. Just come and talk to us.'

'Fuck _off_!'

And that was when he took out the gun and started firing at the laptop.

To no great effect. The girl sighed.

'Mello. Come on. Respect me a little. I got people into your Holy of Holies. That, to me, seems like the kind of thing done by someone with enough foresight to bullet proof their laptop.'

The blonde man stared into the screen with great dislike, before standing straight and pointing his gun directly at Twix.

'Fine. Two can play at this.'

Charlise sighed.

'Come on, Mello. That's not going to work.'

He didn't move. She sighed yet again.

'Paris, prepare. Cheshire, level B, I'm afraid.'

This explosion jarred the floor, and reminded Mello uncomfortably of his own headquarters blowing up to great effect, and to the detriment of everyone within. Himself included.

A few games consoles. Yet another chair – they liked blowing those up. The fridge? More explosions from his room. Two very expensive monitors bit the dust too.

And suddenly there was another man standing directly in front of Mello. Dark haired and serious eyes, dressed in stylish European fashion, with a look of almost pity in his face, and an expensive gun extended to point into Mello's face, twisted as it was in rage. Paris, he presumed.

'Game over, Mello. All we want is a day. No harm. No pressure. Please. Don't make me go to level A, and total this place. What a waste that would be.'

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. A minute. And a half …

'Fine.'

He could swear he heard her sigh in relief.

'Thank you. So much. Do you want to take anything with you to our headquarters?'

'No.'

The ice in his words! Paris knew that Charlise would be wincing, and hoping she was doing the right thing.

'Okay. Twix, Paris, to the elevator.'

'I think it's broken,' Matt mumbled, staring at the ground.

'No, it's up and – ah! Je suis desoleé! Excuse me, Matt, is there anything you would like to take from the apartment?'

Matt looked stunned, and unsure who to address, and so stared at the girl beside him.

'Uh, no, thanks …'

'Okay. Sorry about that. Twix, Paris, to the elevator, please.'

The two nodded, and led the two men from their apartment, and any semblance of control as easily as shepherds leading sheep.

xXx

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_If I could be sweet  
I know I've been a real bad girl  
I didn't mean for you to get hurt  
We can make it better  
Tell me, boy, now wouldn't that be sweet?  
- The Sweet Escape, Gwen Stefani  
_

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**A/N: Love me. Review me. **

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	3. Phase 3: Introducing IQ HQ

**AHA!! There is life in the Universe! ;) I got reviews, and am unrealistically pleased by the fact. Please, do keep up the reviewing, it keeps me going. Just so you know, the chapter explosion is not going to continue. I just have some free time at the moment, and, of course, I'm writing fan fiction. ;)**

**Pairings: **Pah. Not enough has happened for me to know. You guys have any suggestions?

**Rating: **Still T. In fact, it's going to be T for a while.

**Songs: **Again, get them by going to the homepage, folks! But they are Zero by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (tell me if you get the reference) and Yellow by Coldplay. Just cuz. ;)**  
**

**Shout out to: **MY REVIEWERS! HA HA HA HA HA!!! Ah, God, sure there's only two of yis, but you're freaking amazing and it's because of you that this is here today. ;) So, to** xxBluebird**: On the day I got my Junior Cert results, my best buddy gave me her sketch of Mello with that written in the background. ;) And to **Rat300: **You're amazing and I love you. Amazing like Cheshire. She explains in time why she still drives and is basically amazing, don't worry. ;) ... AAAAAHHH!! YOU'RE SO AMAZING, I LOVE YOU Rat300!! Seriously. I'm throwing a party for you and Bluebird at the end of this fic. Everyone is welcome.

**DO YOU WANT YOUR OWN PARTY? JOIN THE REVIEW REVOLUTION. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO. ;)**

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Phase 3 : **Introducing IQ HQ**

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_Get Your Leather On, Bitch._

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_Ping._

When the familiar elevator opened on their 10th floor, Mello recognised the blonde boy inside immediately as the kid he had been stuck in the elevator with only a few minutes before. He scowled at him, and the boy inched out of the way to allow everyone else inside.

'Hey, Aussie,' the girl chirped, squeezing in next to him to playfully punch him on the arm. He smiled, with just a hint of weariness.

'Twix.'

'You owe me a twenty, sucker!' she crowed, and the boy sighed, flipping his hair away. Suddenly, Mello noticed the similarities between them; they were both tall, and blonde, with the same slate grey eyes … obviously siblings. The boy was skinnier, but taller, and the girl looked like she was well-used to exercise and exertion. She bumped her brother playfully, and he laughed, with just a hint of nerves. Paris glanced at the two, his expression unreadable, before turning his head to stare directly ahead at the elevator doors.

Mello stood and silently fumed, until the doors opened into the lobby, and they were joined by yet another team member, apparently. A tall, well built black man introduced himself as Crash, and threw his disposable coffee cup into the trash before walking to greet Mello and Matt cordially and leading them out of the apartment block and into a fancy black car. _Pricy._

Mello knew this. He knew it because he had the exact same car in a garage in Columbia. Just in case. And grudgingly, he had to admit the thought of driving it was enough to make his mouth water. Adrenalin junkie that he was, and all that.

A Japanese girl sat in the front, with dark shades, and didn't even turn when they reached the vehicle. Crash got into the front, beside her, while Matt and Mello were escorted into the very back. Their body guards, Twix and Austin sat in the centre row, while the man called Paris walked away without an explanation. Mello watched him go, a keen jealousy rising inside himself. To just walk away … much preferable to this shit.

'Sorry folks,' the blonde girl squeaked, (_is she capable of speaking at a normal pitch?_) passing the two men blindfolds.

'Captain's orders, don't you know …'

Mello glared at the girl in front of him, but she merely smiled, a wide, bleach-toothed smile and winked at him.

'The blonde one's cute,' she announced to the car at large. Matt raised an eyebrow at Mello, who could see the smirk beginning to work it's way across the alabaster pale expanse of his face. He just knew that he'd start to snigger in less than a minute, and probably even start that irritating little chant he had used every single time, without fail when Mello either showed the slightest interest in a woman, or a woman (or man … those too) showed interest in Mello. _Mello's in lo-ove, Mello's in lo-ove …_

Matt didn't seem to ever rate Mello's feelings on the matter, but that was hardly anything new. Matt enjoyed conjuring his own reality more than he enjoyed living the real one.

'Really? I think the red-head's cuter,' her brother chimed in absently. Mello watched the smirk freeze on Matt's face, and change to bemusement. It was his turn to smirk.

'HA!! HA!! I BEAT YOU!! I BEAT YOU!! HA!!'

Mello watched the now-lively grey-eyed boy jab a finger at his sister, who had started to laugh uncontrollably, delight in her face. She leaned across to slap her brother's arm.

'Oh, God, Austin, you actually had me there. I totally thought you weren't telling me something.'

'There's few things I don't tell you, Twix …' he muttered, the light dying instantly, and he slumped against the car door. Twix broke off mid-laugh and watched him for a moment, her face falling with every second.

_Okay, that was weird, _Mello thought. A pretty drastic mood swing right there. He glanced up at to see Crash turn slightly in his seat to survey the situation with a keen eye. Mello noticed this, and stored it away in his mind. Perhaps Crash was truly the one in charge. Or at least second in command.

'Uh, blindfolds, guys?' Crash requested politely, as an excuse for moving. Matt immediately pulled the strip of dark cloth around his eyes and tied a neat knot at the back, before settling back in his chair. Mello would have been disgusted at his companion's compliancy, if he hadn't known him so well. Matt had always been good at taking orders. When they didn't require as much effort as any other options.

However, with the bandana around his eyes, Mello couldn't help dwelling on something he had heard a kid in McDonalds squeak to it's mother as Matt sat at the nearby table, plugged into his DSi and Mello went to demand a coke for the gamer and anything with chocolate in it for himself. She had heralded Matt to be 'the hamburgler' and demanded her mother call Ronald McDonald to make amends.

Mello had to admit, the idea somewhat tickled his fancy. Even if he hated children.

'You want me to come back there and tie it for you?' the blonde girl asked with a little too much relish. Mello realised the material was still lying in his hands, and quickly folded the square partially around his eyes to allow a blinkered view; enough to gain an alright insight to where he was going if he needed to escape, but not enough to rouse suspicion.

He realised things were rather silent in the car.

'Fine,' he heard the blonde say stiffly, and realised he had just unintentionally shot her down quite forcefully.

Oh well. It wasn't like she didn't deserve every blow he could muster. She was an annoying cow, anyway.

'I think he's gay,' Mello heard the brother whisper very quietly.

'I'm not gay,' Mello announced loudly. The car was silent again.

A disbelieving silence, Mello decided, shifting his head to allow him to watch the streets pass through the window. But then again, maybe he was just being paranoid.

oOo

When they finally reached the headquarters, Crash had to breathe a sigh of relief, as he slammed the car door after himself and went to help Cheshire out. What a tense journey that had been. And with the door safely closed, and the lobby of their bespoke block shining cleanly under the soft lights, Crash could honestly say that he was glad to be home.

Mello had to admit, it was a stylish place. Little potted plants, and bowls with neatly striped candy in them … they even had a few landscapes framed on the walls.

Even a secretary.

She was your typical Exhibit A: Secretary of the Twenties. She was tall and slim, wearing thick-rimmed black glasses with a sleek golden-brown up-do. She had a pretty, pointed face, but she wasn't Mello's type. Too … normal.

She was dressed in a white blouse and a pencil skirt, with an air to it that reminded him of Moneypenny from whatever James Bond movie he had watched on some plane journey. He knew some guys (Matt) only had to see a girl sitting behind a desk to get turned on, but he had never hankered after a secretary. They reminded him of hospitals, or dentists, or something, and the thought was enough to turn his stomach. There was nowhere with the exception of graveyards that Mello dislike more.

She snapped to attention when they entered, and Mello and Matt's blindfolds were removed. Matt blinked in the dim light before shoving his goggles over his eyes and looking more at home. His eyes were very weak from all the years of gaming, and the orange tint in his goggles eased the pain.

'Welcome back, everyone. Congratulations on a job well done,' the secretary smiled, before switching her focus to Crash.

'Commander, the Captain requested you meet on level 4.'

'Thank you, Serena,' he smiled graciously. The girl nodded and returned to her post behind the desk, taking up some paperwork solicitously and bending her head over it, as Crash led the team to the elevator. Mello saw Matt glance back to the girl and throw her a wink. He sighed mentally. That was all he ever thought about.

The elevator was very snazzy, too. A nice varnished wood surround, with gold stripes down the wall-paper. Even a little seat that you could fold in or out from the wall, and a little table with a telephone on it. And roomy, too. Roomy enough for all six of them to fit in easily.

Crash pressed the button on the wall with the number 4 on it, and they stood silently as the elevator zoomed upwards. It was only a matter of seconds before the chrome door purred open to reveal a smooth wooden floor, reflecting the bright lights of a host of monitors, computers and metal surfaces. The room was a large studio, with a pine wooden floor, and the walls and ceiling (the little of them that was visible, at least) were white. Desks and tables stood in clusters and rows through the room, along with desk chairs, and armchairs, and straight back chairs and stools. Millions of dollars of equipment was set up through the room, increasing the temperature, and making the gentle whirring noise that was the lullaby of the room.

A half circle of wine coloured carpet divided the elevator and the wood. Crash led the team forward out of the elevator to assemble on the lush carpeting.

'Just a moment, folks … I'm sorry, I thought the captain would be here to –'

'She _is _here.'

The group turned as one to their right, where they saw a figure typing furiously on a particularly large keyboard, the characters appearing on a projected screen on the wall. The last line read: _Entre deux coeurs qui s'aiment, nul besoin de paroles. - Desbordes-Valmore_

_Two hearts in love need no words, _Mello recognised. He had studied the poem when he was fourteen, but had never really enjoyed learning French. It was one of the only things he had not bothered to commit to memory from his Wammy days.

And then the girl turned around, and he had no further time to think upon it, as she laboriously stood up.

His first thought was that she looked as delicate as a child. No, not even a child; as an infant. There was no look to that that gave the impression she had ever been involved in rough and tumble; that she had really experienced any hard knocks. It was as if she had been indoors encased in bubble-wrap all of her life, and today was her first day unwrapped.

The thought was … odd.

She was small. And so very slight. No more than five foot two or so, with thin, fragile arms and legs. Her skin was pale, with a brief spattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose, in keeping with her strawberry blonde locks, curling out from her head in gentle waves and pinned back with two combs. The bright hair reached just to her mid-back. Her eyes were pale, but Mello couldn't decide what colour they were in the strange lighting.

She was dressed in an ivory man's shirt, worn open with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows over a salmon pink tank top, and washed out blue skinny jeans. She wasn't wearing shoes, but the socks people wore with sneakers. He saw a pair in acid green standing beside her chair.

The most striking thing about her, though, was the bright green cane in her right hand.

The sole thing keeping her upright.

oOo

Far, far, far away …

In London, no less. Teeming, scheming, dreaming London, the only city Paprika felt really at home in. The city that beat in time with her heart, where she could happily live and die, no regrets.

Which was ironic, being, as she was, a Spanish woman, who had grown up in Mexico City.

Paprika smiled as she hummed along to Just Dance, blaring over the speakers in the department store where she was trying to find the perfect slogan t-shirt to bring back to Charlie. She wasn't having much luck, but she knew she'd find it eventually. Tossing aside a t-shirt that read, 'I had a nightmare. I was a brunette', Paprika smiled as she shuffled through the sizing.

She loved shopping. She loved London. She loved buying t-shirts for Charlie, too. That girl was just amazing, and she got such a giggle from the shirts. She had a whole drawer full of them, and they were definitely appreciated. While Charlie always brought Paprika back insane food-stuffs from whatever crazy country she had been visiting, t-shirts were Paprika's thing.

She was glad she could forget, for an albeit brief time that she was lying to everyone she was working for here in London. That she was lying like a trooper.

Lying like Charlie.

A 'Fix your OWN _fucking_ computer!' t-shirt fell to the floor, and Paprika stuffed it onto the shelf, her good mood evaporating. Lying was depressing. Not something she really enjoyed doing either.

She sighed, as the song switched to something Paprika didn't know. And then she found her t-shirt, and grinned at it.

'Chemists do it on the table. Periodically.'

She might be marooned away from her friends in her favourite but loneliest city of all time, but there were witty slogan t-shirts to be bought, and Near's agent Gevanni to seduce.

She pulled out her phone and sent off a quick text as she strutted towards the check-out, back on board and humming again.

_Charlie, you're a chemist, right? ;P xxx_

xXx

* * *

_You're a Zero  
What's your name?  
No one's gonna ask you  
Better find out where they want you to go …  
- Zero, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs

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_

_**-**_**throws huge party with cookies and the cast of Death Note for Rat and Bluebird-**

**A/N: Ah, I love it. Hope you enjoyed my little teasery chapter. They'll get longer, I promise. Tell me what you think, mai lavs!  
-Wraithlike xxx  
**


	4. Phase 4: Exposition

**WAAAAAAH!! He he he he, I have so many awesome reviews, thanks so much! Sorry about the delay, things are crazy and I have projects to hand in next week ... oh dear. Anyway. I hope you enjoy this, it's kind of fillery, I'm afraid. Don't worry, lots of explaining next chapter. And something for the Cheshire fans, too. There's rather a lot of you, I believe ...**

**So do tell me what you think, though. It inspires me. ;)**

**Pairings: **Um ... I ... um ... well, it's _not _MattXMello ... that's explained later on, but apart from that, I have no idea. Seriously folks. Give me your opinions. I do have _some _ideas, but ... I'm curious. ;p

**Rating: T. It's my best friend.**

**Songs: **Lyla, by Oasis, (Charlie's rather a Lyla kind of girl, in my opinion) and Beverly Hills, by Weezer. It's actually their themesong. ;)You can hear them by going to the music player easily accessible on my page.

**Shout out to: **First, my lovely reviewers. To **A Crazy Fol**, I say leave now and never return. You fol, you. No, no, I'm kiddin'. I love you baby. You dirty ho. Yeah, you and Twix are a bit like-minded, there ... And Paris! He's freaking amazing. He IS a lej-bag. There is a good deal of lej-baggishness in IQ HQ at the moment, really ... anyway, thanks fol. Yeah, it's too bad you're a lazy fecker who can't be arsed writing shit. Actually, you writing shit to be taken seriously is a funny thought. I like it. I like it _too _much ... MOVING ON! To **Rat300**, you're a lej-bag too. Which is amazing. ;) Well, you should feel special. Because you're amazing. Oh, oh, the Hamburgler thing I stole from someone ... I loved their little drabble of it, and then I LOST IT!! I couldn't even favourite it, so I paid homage to it here ... if you find it, do tell me, because I _loved _it. Austin ... Austin has issues. Don't worry, all shall be explained in due course. But I love him, he's great. THANKS AGAIN, RAT! To **Broken Glass Walker**, also known as Lexy, wow, another Cheshire lover? Crazy! He he he, my good old dark humour with the Jackson 5, I do love it so ... LOOK!! LOOK!! I UPDATED!! AREN'T YOU PROUD?? Ha ha ha ha ... well, I'm your favourite Irishwoman, now ... IN YOUR FACE, OTHER NOTABLE IRISH WOMEN ... I CAN'T THINK OF ANY, BUT ANYWAY!! I BEAT YOU ALL!! ... and lastly, to the lovely **Practically Venomous**, who needs to understand her name IS AMAZINGNESS ON TOAST, yes, yes, good old chemists and innuendo. I do love it to. ;) Another Cheshire girl!! WOW!! She's so popular. NO, I LOVE YOU!! YOU DON'T BORE ME! It's totally cool. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Do stick around Mellzy-Wellzy. He he he he he ... Oh, oh, and also one to **Nuit Songeur**, because she's lovely and very talented herself, and I hope you enjoy this, my dear! ... INSANE IRISH GIRL AWAAAAAY!!!

**Wow, that was long and barely coherent.**

**WANT YOUR OWN INCOHERENT SHOUT-OUT?? THEN REVIEW, YOU FOL!

* * *

-  
**

Phase 4 : **Exposition**

-

_Oh come, all ye SUB PAR INTELLECTUAL ALUMNI._

_-_

'Welcome to Head Quarters, gentlemen,' the girl nodded, seriously, before risking a smile. 'You're both very welcome. My team and I are honoured to have you here.'

Mello couldn't help raising an eyebrow, and taking a glance at the people spread around him. _My team. __**My **__team._

That hulking, commanding black guy. The two dazzlingly quick blonde siblings. The Japanese girl. The shifty dark haired Paris, AWOL, at the moment.

_My team._

This small doll-like little girl … their leader?

Mello understood that brawn had nothing to do with leadership. He was a prime example. Hell, he had _run _the mafia, and played god in it for long enough to know that, at least. Some of his closest and most loyal gang members could have broken him in half in a few seconds, talking in terms of physical strength. Being handy with a gun was definitely necessary, in those cases. He mightn't have been the biggest, but he had been tough. Everyone knew not to mess with Mello. Mello was made of _steel. _No mercy. An intellect to break glass.

This girl? This … _kid_? No. No way.

Something about her irritated him already. Too … gentle.

'I'm C,' she went on, limping forward a pace. Mello's gaze trailed to her crippled right leg, hanging awkwardly beside her left. He wondered what had happened. It didn't look like a new injury.

'But, please, call me Charlise,' she offered, with another smile. Mello noticed that she pronounced the name with a French inflection on the _ch _and the double e.

_Sharleese. _

She limped forward another two paces, and this time, Mello really _had_ to notice how awkwardly she moved, dragging the leg with her. She must have almost no control over it at all. Horrific. By the looks of her, she was only early or mid-teen. A cripple for life, already?

She paused, and shifted her weight on her crutch.

'Eh … Mello, right?'

Mello examined her face coldly for a moment, before deigning to nod. She hazarded a sheepish smile.

'Nice to meet you. And Matt. You too,' she said, addressing the red-head.

'Hiya,' he greeted her, with a hint of cheer. Mello supposed it was all very well for Matt. He was pretty easily amused in general. A fast car, some free explosions … pretty girls … yes, it must all translate fairly well in Matt's mind.

The girl smiled slightly more sincerely, pleased at the response she had managed to elicit.

'I'm very glad you agreed to come and talk to us. I think we could be great friends, if you'll give my team and me a chance to let that happen.'

Mello didn't bother saying anything. His fingers were itching, and his blood-sugar was probably diving to depths unknown. He had left all of his chocolate in the apartment, and he wanted some. Badly.

'Would you like a drink, before we talk in the boardroom? Anything at all?' the girl pressed, leaning forward. And Mello suddenly heard very clearly the heavy French accent under the perfectly enunciated words.

'Oh, hey, can I get a coke?' Matt asked, and Mello realised that his head was bent over his handheld games console. Hence the strangely high-pitched and tinny sound effects just audible.

'DUDE! How the hell did you get the iPuzzler? I couldn't even lift one out of the Apple factory, the guard was _insane _on it!' Twix enthused, realising at the same time as Mello what Matt was doing, and barging forward, past her twin to stare at Matt, adoration plain in her big, slate grey eyes.

Matt glanced up before turning back to the screen. Brash blondes weren't his type, obviously. Mello wondered why he was keeping tabs of exactly what Matt's type was. Oh well. It was sort of amusing.

And relieving. No brash blondes? Looked like Mello was safe after all.

'I designed it,' Matt said, in a muffled voice. Twix's eyes shone, and she opened her mouth to extol the gamer's virtues, when Charlise interrupted hurriedly.

'Twix, Twix, please. You can prey on them when I've explained what we're all doing here, because at the moment, you just sound like a low-grade thief.'

'Too late, Charlie. She already got owned by the blonde,' Austin chipped in helpfully. Crash started to laugh, and the red-headed girl smiled, as Austin blinked, confused, before starting to smile, as Crash clapped him on the back. Mello pondered this momentarily. There seemed to be deeper ties between them than just those of some people forced to convene out of necessity. Charlise turned to him attentively.

'Can we get you anything?' she asked.

'Chocolate,' he demanded promptly. Thank Christ; she might be a kiddy kidnapper, but at least she didn't skimp on the courtesies.

Charlise blinked.

'Um … okay. Any brand, or type, or-'

'Hersheys, dark. Preferably refrigerated,' he decided. The girl's eyes widened, alarmed.

'Uh, okay. I only eat milk chocolate, myself, but Twix, take a look for me, would you?' _Was that panic in her voice? She was panicking? _'Could be on the middle shelf in the fridge … though there might be some in the corner cabinet; I saw Pap eating some a few weeks ago … have a look. And a coke for Matt.'

'On it!' Twix winked, and dashed for the elevator, before dashing back, as the small girl called her.

'Well done, Twix, by the way. A job well done.'

The girl's face split into a wide grin, and she placed her hands on her hips.

'Aw, shucks, captain! Thanks.'

Charlise nodded in assent, and turned to the rest of her team as the blonde sprinted to the elevator and climbed inside.

'Well done to all of you, in fact. You all did a great job. Especially Paris … who is not here, apparently. Oh well. Anyway. Um, Crash? Coffee on the job? Again?'

Crash chuckled. He was older than all the others, but still very young. Thirty, perhaps. Tall, broad-shouldered and muscular; capable of taking on anyone in the room. His dark hair was very short, and a diamond glinted enticingly in his ear-lobe. His dark eyes were bright and matched his ready smile. Sincere, loyal eyes.

He was dressed in a well-cut blue shirt and a beige jacket. His trousers were freshly pressed, and he was wearing sand-coloured boots. He looked like a television executive, or the kind of person who would head a committee on climate change, or something.

He looked tough. And yet, Mello watched him walk over to the tiny red-haired girl and envelop her in a warm hug, as he laughed. She was so tiny, it was no matter for him to pick her up and spin her around gently, before setting her back where she had stood.

'Crash!' she protested, colour flaring in her cheeks, as she rearranged her shirt. 'Really!'

But he just laughed louder, and reached over her shoulder to drain an untouched cup of coffee that had been sitting by her elbow.

'Sorry, captain. But you did a great job too, kiddo.'

She raised an eyebrow at his patronising tone, and cleared her throat. She was cute, Mello thought unexpectedly. That was it. That was why he didn't exactly hate her, even though she'd taken his liberty, the most important thing to him. Cute. Like a child. Or a puppy. He'd deal.

'Hmm. Well. Sorry about that, gentlemen. Let's … let's go to the boardroom.'

Austin called the elevator, and in a few seconds they were stepping inside, watching their world contract to four respectably decorated walls. The boardroom was apparently located on the next level up, but no one suggested walking. Watching the young woman limp into the elevator, he could understand why.

He noticed too that Crash took the Japanese girls arm whenever they had to move, and it took him a moment to realise that she was blind. Hence she was still wearing her shades inside. She stood straight and proud, and occasionally made a quiet comment to Crash, who had to bend over to hear her. But he always answered very seriously, and with great respect.

They emerged into a spacious boardroom, with a large table surrounded by navy plush chairs. Eight chairs. And a round table. A clean projector screen was pulled down to cover one wall completely, and the box was set neatly into the ceiling.

The little strawberry-blonde haired girl limped forward into the room first, and sat closest to the door.

'Please, make yourselves at home, gentlemen, I implore you …'

She stowed her cane on the ground and waited expectantly for everyone to sit down. Crash went to sit to her right, before sighing and reaching onto the seat of the chair.

'Charlie, your cat has got issues with my chair …'

'Oh! Chesney!' the girl exclaimed, opening her arms, as Crash lifted a hissing, ginger coil of fur from his seat and dumped it unceremoniously into the girl's lap. The hissing ceased, and Mello watched as Charlise smoothed out the short buttery fur of the cat on her lap, hearing it purr contentedly and watching it relax in her arms. She smiled peacefully down at it, as Crash sighed and collapsed into his chair.

'That cat … I swear to God, I told Paris he'd rue the day he brought it back here, and I _will_ follow through with that …'

Charlise laughed, as she petted the cat gently. Matt spoke, unexpectedly.

'Wow. That cat is exactly the same colour as your hair.'

Everyone glanced over at the tall red-head, cramped over the console in his hands, mashing buttons furiously. He didn't look up. Mello felt like he should explain, but really, what could be say? _Please excuse Matt. They put him on pills once, but he started slipping them into the other kid's food for fun._

Charlise continued the rhythmic petting as she looked up to address everyone. But she kept Mello's eye.

'Please. Sit down.'

And they did. Mello still felt like throwing a tantrum and overturning the table, but something in her quiet voice was calming him too, hard as he tried to resist. He didn't enjoy the feeling, but allowed himself to sit down all the same.

The cat suddenly stood up and jumped from Charlise's lap, but this didn't seem to startle her. It began stalking down the table, seemingly set on a target, as the girl spoke.

'Actually, it was the colour of his coat that made Paris bring him back to me. The cat is from Denmark. He was walking down a street, and he saw this cat strutting along a wall, and all he could think of was that if I was an animal, that's what I would be. So he brought him home to me, and I look after him.'

'Did you say it's called Chesney?' Matt asked, his voice muffled from looking down.

'Yes.' The cat was now standing stock-still before Mello, who resisted the urge to recoil, staring him in the eyes. The pale jade met the stark blue and somehow Mello detected derision in the feline eyes. As if this cat was somehow superior to him.

And then it walked away; the moment somehow, Mello felt … unresolved.

'Why Chesney?' Matt persisted. Mello glanced over at him. Matt was acting … oddly. Oh well. He might have a plan.

'Um …' Charlise looked slightly flustered, and Twix suddenly entered, bombing into the room, flinging a chocolate bar at Mello and racing to place the chilled coke before Matt with something akin to reverence.

'Thanks,' Matt nodded briefly, groping out to tug the glass towards him and gulp about half of the contents, still without acknowledging the presence of anyone else in the room. Mello noticed Charlise's disapproving glare at Twix, and saw the blonde's face fall as she slunk into the seat between Austin and Cheshire.

'No, go on. Why Chesney?'

'After Kenny Chesney.' The girl looked preoccupied, and she shuffled the pages before her distractedly.

'Didn't he marry Gwyneth Paltrow in 2005?' Twix pouted as she slumped over the table. Cheshire sighed, drumming her fingers.

'Renee Zellweger, 2005, St. John's Island. If you're going to rape popular culture reference, at least do it with some class.'

Twix looked outraged; Cheshire unimpressed. Crash bit back laughter, and Charlise looked wearied.

'Look, enough, enough! Let's get down to business, at last. We have a lot to discuss,' she pointed out, turning to Crash who had gotten up and was tapping buttons on a small laptop which he then placed before Charlise. She entered a quick code, and looked expectantly towards the projector screen. Everyone followed suit, as a logo appeared gently onscreen, and some low-key choral music started to play. Mello glanced back at Charlise, who turned to regard him sincerely.

'Watch,' she told him, 'and then, you'll understand. I promise.'

She shrugged, and frail fingers tapped the keyboard.

'We're not so different, you and I,' she told him, as she expectantly watched his face. 'And I can prove it to you. Maybe then, you'll understand … perhaps more than you realise.'

And without giving him a chance to retort so much as, 'How do _you_ know?' or 'What do you mean by _that_?' or even, 'Don't compare us!' she stabbed a button and climbed to her feet, and suddenly, on screen flared a large 'D'. Other letters fell into place beside it. 'E'.

'When L died, as I know he did, and Near took over, he shunned many things required by his status.'

'N'.

'He shunned responsibility. He is remarkably … selfish. Focused only on one outcome. His own success.'

'E'.

'I know you're the same, Mello. Deep down. All you really care for is winning. Beating Near. I don't blame you.'

'U'.

'We're just here because we want to beat Kira. In every case, he took something from us. Or we lost something trying to best him. In some cases, we lost everything.'

'V'.

'But we have a goal. And a plan. And we're not afraid of responsibility. United, we stand. Divided … well, you know the rest.'

'E'.

The letters stopped appearing. Mello stared at the word blankly, his brain refusing to process it. Even Matt's handheld was silent, for once.

And Charlise smiled. A beautiful, twisted smile.

'We joined. We combined. We decided how we want the world to be. And we strive to fulfil our goals. However, we have a few tricks up our sleeve …'

And she tapped a button on the remote control in her hand, so that the spaced letters contricted to form the one word. Deneuve.

Standing before the projector screen, leaning heavily on the metallic cane in her right hand, she spoke loudly. Confidently. Boldly.

'When Near took over, he shunned responsibility. I noticed. I acted. And I became Deneuve. And when everyone else joined, then _we _became Deneuve. So it's nice to meet you. Fitting too. Failures unite, and all that …'

She laughed shortly, self-consciously, and looked down. When she looked back up, there was much less bravado in her than there was a deep, weary sadness.

'Because. We're all just second best too. No. Not even. Really, _you're _second best. We're not even that. We, collectively, are third-best. But either way, us failures and drop-outs and criminal masterminds … we're about to turn this world upside down. And to ask you to help us. To make the name Deneuve surpass even that of L. To help us, and in doing so ensure that you, too, will … win. For sure.'

xXx

* * *

_Where I come from isn't all that great  
My automobile is a piece of crap  
My fashion sense is a little whack  
And my friends are just as screwy as me ...  
- Beverly Hills, Weezer

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_

**A/N: Soooo ... from this chapter we have learned something. Always stock chocolate, in case of Mello's imminent arrival. Beware the red-heads. And if you want me to go on ... REVIEW, MAI LAVS!  
-Wraithlike xxx**


	5. Phase 5: Sacrifice

**Okay, to all of my lovely Cheshire fans (the veritable legions of you that there are ... I find this very interesting. Anyone tell me why she's so uber popular? Because she's badass? Anyway, I promise, she has an awesome part next chapter. Hope you enjoy, my loves!**

**Pairings: **Oooh, I do love to hear your ideas! So far : MelloXCheshire, MelloXCharlie, MattXTwix, MattXCheshire, ParisXCharlie and MelloXCrash have been suggested. You can disregard the last one, since it was Paula's crack-fic style idea. Matty is the only man for Mellz. Besides, I'm fairly sure he's straight in this. Keep the suggestions rolling in! I love it.

**Songs: **Keeps Gettin' Better, by Christina Aguilera, (because Charlie is a bit of a super bitch) and Disenchanted by My Chemical Romance. Disenchanted is the main one, really. You can acccess them by going to my homepage and clicking the link to the music player. Does anyone actually use that? I know Lexy did! THANKS LEX!! ;)

**Shout out to**: First up, my reviewers! I love you guys so much! YOU COMPLETE ME!! He he he ... okay, first we have **NaiveLittleDreamer **(ah, bless! Such a cute little name) Anyway. Ah! God, you're so nice! Thank you so much for all of the compliments, I'm very grateful for how much effort and thought you put into my review! Thanks for noticing all of those little things about my writing style, it's really nice to get such an indepth review. I appreciate it very sincerely, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. Do come back! Charlie is freaking amazing. I love her. But she isn't mobile at all. All shall be explained in time ... he he, thanks again! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Next to my lovely **Rat300**!! Everyone should understand this child is amazing. Seriously. I love your reviews. Amazing. ;) FIGHT HER HARDER NEXT TIME!! He he he .... no, no ... who said that? Not me ... he he ... as for MattXCheshire WOW! That could be veryt interesting! I never even thought of that one. Keep the suggestions up, my friend. They are very inspiring ... Anyway, I'm ridiculously glad you're enjoying it! I hope this boring explainy chapter keeps you going until I can write an interesting one! To **PiScEs-BlOsSoM69** (God, I hope that's right!) WOOP! A Twix and Austin fan! Welcome aboard! Aw, I'm glad you like it! I know, Chesney is adorable. I actually want him for a cat myself. Well, Mellz explains his dark choco thing in this, because I hate dark chocolate myself, and I agree, MILK CHOCOLATE IS AMAZING!! I hope you enjoy!

**To Lexy: **Well done again on your amazing story. Congratulations on finishing it, and know that you really inspired me to write this. Thanks. Seriously. ;) I CAN'T WAIT FOR MORE! Well, this chappie is for you. Because you deserve it. And I swear, I'm replying tomorrow. I'll explain all then ... but enjoy, child. This one's for you. ;)

**To P.T.: **I detest you. And your face. It looks like someone's ARSE!! YOU FECKER!! YOU FOL!! FELLOW CLOSET LESBIAN IN THE EYES OF MS. K!! -uber sleazy wink- Only kiddin' I love you baby. You dirty ho. ;)

**WANT TO READ AN ACTUAL ACTION PACKED CHAPPIE? IT'S COMING UP NEXT ... SO REVIEW!! YOU FOL!!

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Phase 5 : **Sacrifice**

-

_And when the lights all went out, we watched our lives on the screen ...  
_

-

_Win? Who? Him? Them? _

Mello's mind was all awhirl, and it could barely concentrate on the images flashing onscreen. Or the words coming from Charlise's mouth. It took a moment to calm the pounding of furious blood in his ears.

Charlise hoped she was doing the right thing. Her hands were shaking. She was fairly sure her voice was too, but all she was saying was the honest to God truth. Everyone around her had given up … everything for this. None more so than herself, but she wouldn't brag of this fact to anyone.

Where was there pride to be found in it?

'I became Deneuve about four years ago. Not by myself, obviously. My guardian assisted me, as soon as we realised that Near had abandoned the alias. We knew that France and Southern Europe would still require a detective, and I was willing to assist as best I could. Deneuve was not called upon often; no more than perhaps twice a month by the French police force. L was in demand. As was Eraldo Coil; and Near seemed content to maintain both. He was also happy to see the role of Deneuve be assumed by someone else. It was a civil arrangement. I don't bother him; he underestimates and doesn't bother me.'

The screen was displaying newspaper headlines from France over the four years, with a few subtle references to Deneuve; but you'd need a good grasp of French to understand and pick them out. Charlise looked over to Crash, who was staring steadily up at her. Thank God for Crash, she thought, gratitude washing over her. He was so … calming. But she wanted Paris there. Paris, her rock. He was a very comforting presence, that boy. Where was he?

She went on.

'Crash joined me first. Three years ago; and then Paprika and Cheshire. Then Twix and Austin, and then Paris.'

Paris, last of all … troubled, disheartened Paris, with his dark eyes and his sad smile. Unwilling. Suspicious. He had always tried to bolt, to run, but now … things had changed. He had tied himself to this organisation. He always came back.

Always, with that distant look in his eyes. Like he was hiding something from you; and the something was himself.

A shot of the building onscreen. The one thing that made this look like a real estate DVD. But most of it was so incredibly case sensitive that, as the laptop played the file, it was deleting itself. She hoped they were paying attention.

'We joined … for various reasons. But we all had one thing in common; our IQ stats were high. Among the highest. In some cases, _the _highest. But … we'd never be number 1, never be the best. Some of us had never heard of L … and likely, there is someone in this room or organisation who surpasses L. But none of us would be given the chance to ever do that.'

A world map, a satellite image, gently turning onscreen.

'We were all … deficient. Damaged, in some way.'

Charlise knew the smile on her face. It was that smile that always came involuntarily when she had to speak of this. She knew Mello thought she was referring to her leg … everyone always did. They were wrong.

A ruined leg? Just one of the consequences of her position as their leader.

The procession of flags. French. American. Japanese. Spanish. English. Mexican. Italian. Russian. German. Austrian.

'I won't – explain. That's not my place; not my business to tell you. I can't speak for anyone but myself. But … but I will tell you, our handicaps are many and varied. We … we gave up … everything.'

She opened her mouth as if searching for words, before the expression disintegrated into sadness.

'Our burdens are heavy. Don't underestimate us. Mello.'

Her pale eyes piercing. _Don't you forget it, sonny,_ they said. Mello's chin lifted in response. And the picture changed again.

Surprising. Mafia … the mafia headquarters. The mafia branch that Mello had been involved in, once. Just a shot of it, with a leader grinning stupidly into the camera. _Obviously it was taken by someone he trusted._ The shot was a few years old; that guy was dead and buried thanks to Mello's own command.

'One thing you should realise, though, is that our methods, like yours have rarely been … legal. Exactly above board. For instance, the government doesn't fund us. The government doesn't know we exist; outside of Deneuve, who they are happy to under-fund when the mood strikes them. Our finance … doesn't come from exactly reputable sources. In fact, for a while, we _were _being funded by the mafia. Well … that is, we funded ourselves from the mafia. Then you figured it out and shot that gentleman,' she said, pointing to the screen as the shot faded to greyscale, 'and we decided it was too risky. So our funding comes form other mediums, now.'

_It was … them? _Mello had had the guy killed for fraud … embezzlement …

Her? All along?

'But our intentions have always been pure. We have always striven to repay, or earn our keep. It's difficult, certainly, and we don't always succeed … but our organisation … it's – different. Different than you think. Our primary objective is to stop Kira. That is our aim, and all you need to know for the moment. We have highly skilled operatives, we have technology, we have plans, we have … everything.'

'If you have everything, then why do you need us?'

_Bulls eye._

Charlise had been waiting for it; measuring the blonde-haired man up on when and how he would ask. She knew he's do it. She knew he had to. And now she had a pretty damn good idea of the kind of person he was.

_Sly, but direct. Emotional, but still careful. Arrogant ... but with good reason._

When she had said someone could surpass L … it was undeniably him. And now, at last … she could speak a half-truth.

The smile that curved her lips was knowing.

'Why? Because, Mello … The more the merrier, the saying goes.'

She laughed shortly.

'No, no, I jest. The thing is … our organisation is split. Two ways. Science, and vengeance.'

And the organisation suddenly stood, everyone staring straight ahead, perfectly serious. She called names, sharply.

'Austin, Crash, Cheshire, my guardian and I – we're scientists. Researching a task left to me by the most eminent scientist in France.'

The girl looked small and care-worn standing there with her proud associates.

'Twix, Paris, Paprika … vengeance. Surveillance. They are researching the Kira case. We hit all the pressure points. And you, Mello … you can help us. With your plans; your knowledge intravenously of the case, of Kira, of Near … and just … you, Mello. You are … Second.'

She said it. She wouldn't apologise, but even so that voice inside her head was cringing and moaning. _Poor kid! Harsh. Harsh! _

She had been going to say, 'You're a genius! You're incredible! You're just different to Near, not inferior!'

No. He hadn't earned the respect that she already had for him. She wouldn't display it so readily; or feed a damaged ego. She would let the remark sting, and if he could take it, he was worthy to join them.

'With you, and Matt … we can _all _benefit. All live.'

He didn't hear the words that followed, because she didn't say them aloud.

_If you don't, you'll throw your life away. It's a waste I refuse to be responsible for letting occur._

_I won't let you die._

oOo

Beep. Beep-_**bop**_. **Pow**! **Pow**! _Pow_!

It was all very exciting to Matt.

Mario was owned, for once, and Peach was wearing the pants. Well, the skirt. A big poofy pink thing, as usual, but she was kicking some serious Goopa ass in this. It was called Super Princess Peach.

Granted it was an ancient game, but Matt was running low on cartridges at the moment, not being bothered to leave his sofa to go to Game Stop, and so he was reviewing the classics. Appreciating retro.

(Replaying all of his old games.)

But that didn't mean he wasn't completely on board with what was going on. Playing let him concentrate better. It occupied and focused that part of his mind that was generally not paying attention when someone was trying to tell him something. That little floating part of his mind that was thinking of a completely unrelated topic. The game play made sure that part was concentrating. He had switched the sound off for the chick's presentation (a courtesy. She should feel honoured. He generally didn't silence the iPuzzler for anyone or thing. It was a source of great irritation to Mello) but the sound effects still popped onscreen to tell him what he was missing.

He was particularly proud of that feature. He had developed it after some stressed dame on a train had thrown his DSi against a wall because "the noises were irritating her".

Crazy bitch.

Anyway.

Contrary to Mello's belief, Matt _was _paying attention. _Rapt _attention. He just didn't broadcast this to everyone. Where was the element of surprise if he did that? And right now, he could hear through Ginger's words as clearly as if he was writing them all down.

She wanted them to join. She wanted to keep an eye on Mello.

She wanted to make sure he didn't join the stiff brigade. Probably because she would consider that a 'waste' or something … chicks like that always did, yada yada yada.

Whatever.

She was alright, that girl. Not … annoying. There was too much of an angsty-undercurrent to her to allow her to be annoying. She was that character … like Princess Zelda. No, like Tetra, the little pirate kid who turned out to be Princess Zelda. Ordinary, but with this deep profound sadness in her that hinted at something … more.

Matt liked to compare things to games.

And … Zelda was a cool character.

So much better than Peach. She was way more like Twix.

oOo

'So.'

_Well, Charlise, you did your best. Which was damn good. You did well. You should be proud of yourself._

She worked hard on controlling her expression; not letting it turn pleading, or pitying, or curious. She schooled a mask, and hoped it looked natural.

And then, she watched him.

He was very … pretty. He had very pretty features, the Second. Delicate, well-defined features … angelic. She said he would have been angelic as a child; all blonde hair and blue eyes. Same as Dix. He had been angelic; auburn curls and big brown eyes.

But the Second was … very beautiful. His blue eyes were bright and the intelligence in them was almost tangible. They were very alive eyes. His nose was straight; the angles of his cheekbones supremely sculpted, his lips perfectly proportionate … the balance of his features gave him a slightly supercilious expression, though. Or maybe it was just the permanent look on his face.

Altogether, his features would have been rather effeminate, if not for the spider-web scar obscuring the left half of his face.

Dark, burned, raised … it was horrific. She was very surprised he wasn't blind, as the scar stretched around his eye and across the bridge of his nose. In fact, he had been very lucky; it hadn't crossed his mouth or nose damagingly (other than aesthetically) and he still had his vision. He was a lucky man to be alive.

She thought it was … funny. In a dark way. Funny that two such opposing sides could so-exist across one face.

The beautiful, fragile features of an innocent, and the brash, violent scars of a sinner.

She didn't know yet which one he was.

'I don't … want to.'

His voice was troubled; unsure. He noticed it as she did, and rallied with force.

'I dislike your methods; and those of your organisation. They lack … poise.'

_Crack. _He bit the corner off the chocolate bar, keeping her gaze levelly.

_Ugh. Dark. Ugh. So disgusting. Ugh. Bitter! This isn't chocolate. Ugh._

Mello didn't ever enjoy eating dark chocolate. But he needed a boost of brain cells, and dark chocolate always woke him up a bit. And, especially here, dark chocolate was all about perception. It made his habit look more reasonable. More intelligent. It made him look better. Milk was so … comfortable.

Mello couldn't be comfortable. Not here. On guard. Always on guard.

The room was quiet, as Charlise frowned at the ground, appearing deep in thought. The other members of her team had sat down already, and watched her as carefully as Mello did.

'Well,' she said, at last, glancing up to stare through Mello with droll eyes, 'I don't think my _organisation_ lacks poise. They're all pretty polished people, _I _think. Very classy folk. As for myself, certainly I will admit whole-heartedly to lacking poise. I have very little. I find it quite difficult to even remain upright, most of the time. But on that note; if I lack poise, then you do too. We're rather alike in that respect, though I've never blown up my _headquarters_, killing or maiming everyone inside, myself included. I've kept it to cars that I'm driving and generally I only cause serious and irreversible harm to myself. So, I would call that pretty poised, actually. I keep the damage to a minimum, which, no offence, my friend, is more than you can say.'

The words, frank. The deliverance, blunt. The challenge in her eyes, very real.

And Mello leaned back in his chair. He had been in the mafia. He had subjugated his will, and worked his way up the ranks. He had never been formally in control. But the power of the organisation had been so useful. He didn't have that kind of power working solo with only Matt. Freedom, certainly, but the power … he missed it.

And this girl was offering him a position … he was sure she wouldn't insist on his subordination. She was very honest and guileless, and had already admitted to knowing that he was the … Second. The thought still rankled.

She would respect his authority. He would have to deal with hers, though. Could he do that?

'You fund yourself?'

'Deneuve still gets a salary. So we earn from our cover, but it wouldn't be enough to keep us in High Definition monitors. So, we earn from other mediums. Other countries help us … and we do get a subsidy from Watari, actually. Secretly.'

'Hmm.'

Mello thought. He got money from the mafia accounts. Matt hacked … anywhere, really, and got money.

'You own this building?'

'Yes.'

Mello had entered into organisations before. And alliances.

'And you are funded by Watari?'

'In part, yes.'

The alliances hadn't usually been weighed in his favour. Not like this.

'And if I join …'

'You can live here, bien sur. The eighth floor. You and Matt; certainly. Rent free, I assure you,' she smiled.

_He could always kill her if it didn't work out._

'In that case … count me in.'

'And me,' Matt agreed, muffled with his head on his chest. His voice was monotonous; bored. 'We're a package deal, and all.'

It was amusing to watch the jubilation spread over her face. Disbelief, happiness … like a glowing, living thing.

'Well, then, Matt and Mello, with all of my heart, I welcome you to Deneu –'

And the elevator doors opened, admitting a surprised and windswept Paris.

'Sorry I'm late,' he exclaimed, shaking his head under the bright boardroom lights, and stopped, wrong-footed, blinking innocently around at the assembled faces.

'I haven't missed anything, have I?'

oOo

_And for a moment, all Charlise could think of was the time she spent editing the film, and her first choice, the inclusion of the photographs of herself and her brother as children. Back in the days when she could walk and she didn't have to lie to everyone about everything. When she didn't have to lie to her only brother, and when her only brother wasn't her only family. When she didn't have to anticipate the sad ending of her story, the only ending there could be._

_She looked at the pink, excited cheeks of Charlise as a child before she was Charlise, and at the innocent red-headed boy standing grinning next to her, and she suddenly had to look away. _

I hate the ending, myself, but it started with an alright scene, _she had thought, out of nowhere, as she realised the tears were dripping down her cheeks. And then she had deleted it, and started from scratch, unnerved and shaken. _

_All of this, she thought of, before Paris, her rock, locked eyes with her, and everything was suddenly, blessedly alright again._

'Nothing, Paris,' she said, and smiled.

xXx

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_It was the roar of the crowd  
That gave me heartache to sing.  
It was a lie when they smiled  
And said, "you won't feel a thing"  
And as we ran from the cops  
We laughed so hard it would sting ...  
- Disenchanted, My Chemical Romance_

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**A/N: I swear, the next one will be a little more exciting. It's slow, I know, but so am I. ;P DO REVIEW, LOVES!  
**

**-Wraithlike xxx**

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	6. Phase 6: Behaviour

**I lied. But I'm making up for my lie now, I swear, because LO AND BEHOLD! I actually have plot. And I know what's happening, for a little while, anyway. So, to the Cheshire Lovers ... Chapter 7 is going to be your chapter. And the boring explainy chapters are over for a bit! YAY!!**

**But but but! I have a challenge for you. I will tell you one thing about Chapter 7. Cheshire is on a plane. I want some wierd and wonderful suggestions as to what's going on. The whackier the better. And the winner gets ... eh ... gets ... is a cameo a good prize? Well, too bad, that's your prize! I'll be waiting!**

**Pairings: **These are getting weirder and weirder. I love it. :) We've got three for MelloXCharlie, two for TwixXMatt, two for CheshireXMello, oh, two for CharlieXParis, too ... two for MelloXCrash (LEXY AND PAULA YOU SLASH-WRAITHS) and TheContheDistance suggested some super fabulous love triangles that I'm not putting up because I think I may just steal them myself ... he he ... but do keep the suggestions coming. I love it. ;)

**Songs: **Ignorance, by Paramore and Follow the Light, by Travis. Two very different songs. You can get them by accessing the music player on my homepage.

**Shout out to: **My lovely, lovely reviewers. Very quickly: to **TheContheDistance**, I appreciate your approval! ;) I'm glad you're enjoying it. I know! TWINS ARE AWESOME. I love crack filled things too. I actually love those pairings, and may steal them. Just so you know. Specially the last one. ;) Glad you like it! Hope you keep reading. To **BrokenGlassWa- **I mean, -coughcough- **Mayo Koizumi **(DAMN IT, LEXY, YOU KNOW I CAN'T SPELL JAPANESE!!) No, I'm never messaging you again. You can go and feck off. Or just check your email, you fol. Yeah, I know, Matt does need some action. The dirtbag ... Yep, just trust me, I'm a doctor. He he. BIG EXPLOSIONS AND SHIT COMING!! I swear ... Well, UPDATED AND MESSAGED!! SUCK ON THAT, BETCH! ;) To **Rat300**, who is epic, (seriously, child! You're epic!) Ah, a Dixon fan! YAY! I'm glad you enjoyed, but this could be the last explainy one for a while! I'm glad you liked my Matt philosophy, I know, it explains a lot, wouldn't it? And Rat ... I like that idea. I like it tooooo much ... He he he, but yes ... shh ... secrets ... ;) ANYWAY!! I'm glad you still like it, I love your reviews, hun! ANd finally to **ShiverySox **(what? You logged your lazy arse in?) You WHOORE, too. Oh, waow. Well done to me for keeping the ADD child on board. I know, I tried so hard to stop you hating everyone. I'm always thinkin' of you, fol. -winkwinklesbowink- Poor, poor Kinsy. Poor us. I KNOW! I'm freaking amazing at hinting pairings. It's called SUBTLETY. It was all sold out when you came along, though ... He he, even though it's the randomest piece of shit ever, I love your reviews. Look how excited I am: kl/fxccza[jrfjkugytjliloijkuoipky!! reagfftroijkfafkdjdsanaS! ;) Thanks, fol.

**Oh, and please take my poll, folks! **On m'homepage! So far, Mello is in the lead with 1 whole vote! He he ... well, if you had to pick ... who'd rule Death Note land?

**START ANTICIPATING THE EXPLOSIONS NOW, FOLKS! LOOK OUT FOR CHAPPIE 7! AND DON'T FORGET, REVIEWS ARE LOVE!!

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Phase 6 : **Behaviour**

-

_If Patience is a virtue ... good thing I never aspired to heaven._

-

_Ping._

Good old communal elevator noise. It was a nice touch, really, Mello thought, as she watched the old-fashioned dial over the doors flash with the arrival of the lift.

Well. Mello hadn't planned his day to go like this. He supposed by now it must be about half one, or so. Maybe less.

He had made his decisions quickly. Ugh. Not quickly. _Hastily. _

That's what he'd done. He hadn't thought of every possible outcome or consequence. He had acted. He had winged it. Oh, God, he had winged it …

Damn. Damn it! This wasn't supposed to have happened! People weren't supposed to be able to outsmart him! This little girl had pinned him in on every side, but …

Wait.

Wait a minute.

Had this girl ever specifically said, 'You have to join. You don't have a choice. _I'll have you both shot if you don't comply._'

Had she?

_HAD SHE?_

Oh, no. Oh, sweet mother of Christ, no. He hadn't. He had _not _just done this.

He had. Mello had.

Mello had just joined an organisation run by a little ginger haired girl … _voluntarily._

How? How had she done that? She was _in _his mind. That was the only possible explanation. She was a witch. A hypnotist. Something. Not normal

Mello glanced across the small space of the elevator to the spot where the strawberry-blonde girl was leaning against the wall, the placid cat in her arms, about a sixth of her own size. Paris, (looking very tall in comparison to her … but he _was_ tall. Taller than Mello) was smiling benevolently down at the cat, stroking it gently as it lay in her arms. Mello wondered if he worried about the effect of the ginger fur on his clean, dark clothes.

Stupid girl.

And he sounded like a petulant child. He knew this. He didn't care, either. This was not what he had planned. He had not reckoned for this!

So what if he wasn't Near-insane about plans and order. _He was still a genius, damn it!_

There had to be a reason for this. There had to be.

Mello sighed, as Matt shifted to his right. Oh well. It could be worse. He _did _have Matt, after all, even if Matt could be something of a liability … most of the time.

He was still his best friend. Or something.

It would be interesting, anyway. There had to be a reason. He'd figure it out sooner or later.

And, for the first time in a long time, (Wammy's? Childhood? Before?) Mello touched the crucifix around his neck with actual religious intent, as the lift slid to a halt.

He put his trust in God. And he hoped it was well-founded trust … for once.

oOo

_Beep-eep._

Twix and Paris's hands flew to their pockets, as they withdrew small silver mobile phones, about the length Mello's forefinger, perhaps as wide as two fingers together. Charlise handed her cat to Crash, who held it slightly awkwardly with a disapproving expression, before pulling a similar device from her own pocket. Mello glanced over to Twix and Paris who were frowning at the words on the screen. Charlise regarded her own screen suspiciously. Twix shook her head.

'Charlie, what the hell does it say? It's in …'

'Russian,' Paris answered Twix. Charlie glanced up at him, and he down at her, the two sharing a dark look of understanding.

'Russian,' Charlie echoed. _Wait, what?_

'I thought you worked with Southern Europe.'

Her glance showed just a hint of irritation, her first deviation from the impossibly courteous façade that Mello thought might not _be _a façade … that might just (_impossibly_) be her personality. She blinked, and stared through him.

'We do … Russia has distanced itself from the problems of Kira, as Kira has ignored Russia in general … please excuse us, Mello, Matt. We need to return to the Control Centre for a time … Cheshire, Crash, Austin … if you would be so good as to continue our tour? I should appreciate it so much …'

'Sure,' Crash nodded, as the door opened. The three walked from the elevator into this new room. Matt trailed afterwards, still deep in level whatever of his game he was playing. Mello fleetingly looked at Charlise, who immediately struggled to hide the anxiety in her eyes with a smile. A sweet little smile. _Stop. She's a witch. Stop it. Now. Not cute. Not cute!_

He looked away, skulking from the elevator to stand inside the room, and looked around.

oOo

Matt glanced up from the back-lit screen (which was, at that moment, showing Princess Peach floating over a huge drop via her huge skirt … did chicks ever wear stuff that … weird?) and caught a glimpse of the blonde Buffy smiling eagerly at him. She caught his glimpse and waved, cheekily. He raised his eyebrows and turned away, but he heard her laughing behind him.

She had a nice laugh. Too bad she was a freaking psycho.

oOo

(It would be a nice little moment. If he and Charlise were going out, or something, that was. And if Twix wasn't standing _right there._ It was sort of ruining the intimacy of the moment. Just sort of.)

She was quiet. Biting her nails. A sure sign of distress.

'Charlie, stop it.'

'Pardon,' she breathed, yanking her hand from her mouth, and taking up her stick again, pulling herself away from the wall.

'You're worried.'

'Yes. It's so …'

(She did that a lot. Spoke, and then trailed off. He knew the thoughts that bubbled in her head were French, and violently alive. He knew she was, too. But something about this place subdued her. She was so in charge. So calm, and controlled, and old before her time. So polite, and balanced. Too much. The words stayed in her head, and sometimes, if he was really looking, he saw the frustration of the sweet girl, begging for respite.)

'So … frustrating?'

Her eyes widened, as she shook her head.

'No, no, it's just … unexpected.'

(And he always did that, too. Always assumed; and assumed wrong. He was never on the same page as her. He tried, Lord did he try, but he could never understand. He could never make himself understand.)

'Ah. Yes. It is, rather.'

She smiled at him, (a gentle, empty smile) and turned to Twix, who was untangling a snarl in her hair. And he kicked himself for not understanding her.

oOo

'Nice place you got here,' Matt approved, having torn himself from the games console, and eyeing up the pinball machine against the wall hungrily.

_An understatement, _Mello thought, impressed.

The first thing you saw stepping from the elevator was the wide screen television stuck in the wall straight ahead; the distance between it and the life divided by a huge rug, leather sofa and a clear expanse of wooden panelled floor. The whole room had a clean, expensive air to it, like the rest of this place, but it seemed to be … homely. A piano was standing beside the wall to his left, and beside that, in the corner was a computer on a desk, with an expensive stereo next to it. A glance to the right showed a carpeted area in the other corner, with bookshelves piled high with every type of tome imaginable.

The wall upon which the television rested cut the apartment in half, but there was a gap to the right and left where you could walk through into other rooms. Mello guessed a kitchen and dining room.

'Thanks,' Crash yawned, stretching and strolling forward casually to deposit his hulking figure into an armchair.

'Oh, _God, _that feels good. You know what? I'm not moving. The rest of you can screw off and go do some work. I'm taking a nap.'

Austin and Cheshire chuckled, as the two moved forward. Cheshire walked carefully, but Mello was surprised to see her walking unaided. Austin moved his neck from side to side, before ambling towards the book shelves to browse the contents.

'I'm indescribably glad that that is over,' he remarked, absently turning a page, as Cheshire folded herself delicately into an armchair.

_What the hell? _Mello was confused, and tensed. Something strange. Why … so … at ease? They had changed completely from the robotic and utterly professional beings of moments ago, when they had stood to attention in the lift. They were suddenly very human, and very relaxed.

Cheshire hummed in agreement, and reached up to pull off her classy sunglasses, squinting in the brightness, before opening her dark eyes wide and sighing deeply in contentment.

She had beautiful eyes. Dark, luscious eyes rimmed in exotic, black lashes. They didn't look blind. _So, what? Is she blind? Or not? If she is, how did she drive a car? _

_This place is getting weirder and weirder._

Crash flung his head back into the cushions before yanking it up again and addressing Mello and Matt.

'Oh! God, sorry. Go ahead, make yourselves at home.'

He laughed shortly, as he closed his eyes, settling comfortably back.

'Welcome to the family, I guess.'

'Oh, God, Crash …'

'How cheesy …'

Cheshire and Austin were in agreement. Mello was not so sure, and stepped forward hesitantly; Matt his shadow, still deep in his handheld.

He might play the part of spaced gamer a little too well, but he wasn't blind to the situation. These people were acting oddly. Things had never been so relaxed in the mafia. Certainly, things were trivial and easy, but there was always the constant threat of someone pulling a gun on you. Someone was in charge; everyone was dangerous.

You didn't let your guard down, and live. It was one of the things that divided you from the rest of the world. That made you good enough to stay.

He was unarmed. He expected Crash to have a gun on him, perhaps Austin too. Maybe not the girl …

But they were completely … relaxed. Even with him and Matt right there. It was …strange. A strange relationship.

Mello placed a gloved hand on the back of the sofa and hovered a moment. Crash turned over his shoulder, wide-eyed.

'Go ahead, make yourselves comfortable … seize the moment … uh, carpe diem! We don't get a lot of free time, you might as well make the most of it.'

'But …'

'Crash, think about it. The poor children are still recovering from Professional Charlise. Give them time. It's a frightening sight,' Cheshire remarked dryly, as Crash laughed.

'Oh, yeah! But seriously, guys, sit down, and we'll explain shit to you.'

Mello saw Matt raise his dark brown eyes quickly to his own, before dropping them and nonchalantly switching his console back on. It was moments like that when Mello was forced to realised that despite his outward (and deep reaching) devil-may-care attitude, Matt was a deeply intelligent man. Boy. Eighteen. wasn't that old.

Mello remembered being eighteen.

He'd still had most of his face, back then.

Mello stalked around to spread himself comfortably over the sofa, leaving Matt to sit at the other end, bent over his console. He must have chronic neck pain by now. You couldn't tell by looking at him, though. He was exactly the kind of guy girls regularly died for.

Well … some girls, anyway. Girls like the blonde. Twix.

(Weird ones. Usually with curly hair.)

The goggles … God, since he was eleven, he'd had those fucking goggles, and watched the world (when he was watching it, and not the screen of whatever god-awful piece of plastic he was selling his soul to) through a ginger tint; to such a degree that every time he pulled them off, he automatically winced.

The goggles … okay, he had gotten new ones recently, to be fair. Prescription goggles. And he hadn't even flinched, despite all of Mello's scoffing.

'_Yes, Mello. I'm going fucking _blind. _At least you can still tell I'm male from a distance._'

He was still fun to tease. Still always had a witty backhander. Mello had missed that.

Then there always seemed to be so much of him. Mello was taller, but Matt … there was something about him that made him _seem_ taller. His legs were very long. Or maybe it was just that everything he wore was slightly too big. Made him look kind of … dishevelled. (a girl would probably say frail, or something.) The stripes, too. He had always liked stripes. And he made things easy for himself, now. Black and white stripes. Nice and simple, and he must have at least seventeen of the same damn shirts. And then the jeans … they were better now, better than they had been in a long time. When he had gone through that combat trouser phase in his teens … Mello had always known minimalistic was best. You couldn't really go wrong with black, and the leather … it gave him an edge.

And those ubiquitous sneakers you saw everywhere, the black and white Converse that had seen better times. Matt loved them. Not that he ever admitted as much, or sang their praises, but he was never seen without his high-top sneakers. They made him look like such a kid, somehow.

And then, of course, there was the hair. It had been many colours. Mello could remember the days when it had just been a normal head of hair; that deep, coppery-mahogany red. The same colour it was now (semi-natural, at last) but it had been every colour imaginable. Brown. Blonde. Blue. You name it. At least, now, he didn't look like some sort of alien life-form. Unfortunately, Matt had decided sometime after Mello left that he was going to grow his hair. (Maybe not decided. Maybe he just failed to cut it.) And now, the rich mahogany hair was past his shoulders, tied into a surprisingly neat ponytail.

Ha. Matt … such a teenage dirt-bag.

And often the cigarette hanging out of his mouth; an afterthought. (They had once belonged to Mello … he had given up quickly, though. The taste … the smell. Not pleasant to someone as sensitive as Mello was.)

Ah, Matt. Mello had missed his companionship during his stint in the mafia. (And that was an understatement. But Mello refused to admit how much he needed a friend, how much he had missed Matt. His best friend. His only friend. He refused to admit his dependence on someone other than himself.) It just hadn't been the same without him. (Thankfully. The things he'd seen, and the things he'd done … he was glad Matt hadn't witnessed them. It had changed Mello; it would have killed Matt.) Matt had grown up a lot since Mello had left; that was for sure. (Grown up and changed drastically. A different person. He had always been lackadaisical and indifferent towards his schoolwork, but the Matt Mello remembered had been peppy, full of life and tricks, when he felt like it. He had been a very bright person. Weird; exceptionally odd … just plain crazy, a lot of people thought. But on Mello's side. And an interesting guy. Always that. And now … sullen. No. Not sullen. Independent, uncaring. He didn't need Mello anymore. He had learned to go on without him. He didn't need to rely on Mello anymore. He didn't need to rely on anyone. _Cold. _That's what he was. Detached. Different. It frightened Mello, sometimes. He didn't know what to say, didn't know if things could ever return to normal. It frightened him.)

Crash yawned and crossed his legs, propped onto the coffee table before him.

'Yeah, just in case you were wigging out, we're not all so workaholic as Charlie.'

He yawned again.

'Sorry, sorry. This morning was stressful in the extreme.'

Crash glanced up, and seemed to take in the confusion on their faces.

'But, um … seriously, don't worry, things aren't normally so crazy. We're not robots. We're people too, and so is Charlie … she's just been dreading and anticipating this day in pretty equal measures for a long time, now. She's kind of stressed trying to make it go without a hitch.'

Mello was listening closely, soaking up all the information for future dissection.

The well-built man loosed another jaw-splitting yawn.

'Yes. But seriously, kids … you got no idea what you're in for,' he said, with a warning grin. Matt glanced up at him.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, this place is freaking insane. Don't worry, though, you don't have to prove yourselves to us … you've got to prove yourselves to Charlise. Because really … she's been raving about you … mostly you,' Crash said, addressing Mello with an interested gaze.

'Second. In the world. No mean feat … but we've never ranked Charlise. MENSA chased her. Wammy's chased her, even when she had parents. If you want to maintain your status … than watch out for her.'

He winked, and settled even further back, placing his arms behind his head.

'You've scared them, Crash.'

'Can it, Peaches.'

Cheshire smiled quietly.

'This should be interesting,' she mused, staring vacantly into the distance.

'I wonder what's going to happen …'

'Who knows?' Crash shrugged, glancing sharply at Mello, who met his eye confidently. Crash's face dissolved into a smile.

'It's going to be epic, though,' he remarked. Austin hummed in agreement in the corner with the books.

And Matt and Mello met each other's gaze again, brown and blue, (best friends and total strangers) both thinking, for once, the exact same things.

_What the hell have we signed up for? _

Mello knew one thing for sure; no amount of mafia training could have prepared him for what was to come. But Crash was right. It was going to be – _epic. _

xXx_

* * *

_

_We're the friends who stuck together  
We wrote our names in blood  
But I guess you can't accept that the change is good  
It's good, it's good ...  
- Ignorance, Paramore

* * *

_**A/N: So. What happens with Cheshire on the plane, folks? I'll be waiting ... ;)**

**-Wraithlike xxx  
**


	7. Phase 7: Curiosity

A Note from the Desk of: **Deneuve **(Charlie)

Bonjour, mes amies. J'espere que vous allons tres, tres bien, comme moi.

(Sorry about the formal heading, by the way … I'm working with Microsoft Word, and Matt tells me I'm "retarded" regarding this particular word processor. Presumptuous, certainly, given the fact that I've only known him perhaps a week or so now. So I don't know how to delete this template. Sorry. If Matt was around, I'd just make him fix it … but he's gone somewhere else. As ever. –sigh- I'll just stop drawing attention to it.)

Um … yes. I know what you're thinking. Surely, running, as I do, an organisation with the singularly highest percentage of genii (100%) in the world, I could find someone with a decent knowledge of Microsoft Word around here … but since it's just Mello and I in HQ at the moment, I'm going to keep quiet.

I … I haven't admitted it to anyone, but Mello … he, as Crash would say, "freaks my shit out". My apologies for the crudeness, but no other English sentiment I can think of adequately reflects my great fear.

He's typing something … (I feel like a schoolgirl, spying on the object of her affections … it's strangely liberating) but he looks absolutely murderous. Eep. I don't think he's forgiven me for convincing him to join. He probably resents me for it. Oh well. I hope it's not … I don't know, an assassination request or something. Oh, well. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have to go far. One phone call to MENSA. Enough sweets to bribe Twix. One gentle shove somewhere in the vicinity of a staircase … really, there are any number of ways he could kill me.

Okay. Moving on, because I'm scaring myself. (And Mello just glanced up rather quickly. I only _just _had time to wipe the horrified expression from my face. Phew. Close one.)

I'm not here to talk about the prospect of my imminent death. I'm here to give competition results, as a request from the authoress. Having judged this particular competition myself, I feel … obligated, shall we say to make some sort of a comment on it.

… their oddity is my first point. Such oddity, I have rarely witnessed. And I witnessed Twix's 'impressionist' phase of art. She drew a portrait of me, and it was a goat with a red beard. I didn't question her. She's the artist, not me. But thank God, she's moved back onto charcoal sketches. They suit her much better. (And me, for that matter.)

As such, I can endure oddity. But still … Cheshire on a plane, and … the things I saw … truly? You live with these minds all of the time? However, without further ado, I present to you the results and comments on the entrants. As it is the first competition of the sort, we have decided to reproduce each entry here, for analysis.

**PiScEs-BlOsSoM69**: _Mello went into chocolate withdrawl, starts tearing up the place and the only way to stop him is for Cheshire to go to Candy Mountain and rescue the Cocoa Queen, and get a lifetime supply of chocolate. As she's driving to candy mountain, a bunch of flying monkey's flip her car, so Cheshire has to fly a plane and kill all the monkey's with lazers, then after she's done that she flies the rest of tge way to Candy Mountain and gets the chocolate for Mello and everyone lives happliy ever after. The End! XD_

… yes, indeed. I name dropped some of the things I found in this particular theory into a conversation with Twix. Her response was to stare wildly at me, and ask me if I had just rediscovered YouTube. However, I did notice that Pisces managed to remain quite true-to-form with the characters in question … Mello does seem prone to irritation when chocolate is not readily available, though he has not gone to those lengths yet to acquire said confection …

As for Cheshire, well, she would probably enjoy the chance to kill things with lasers. Especially if they were monkeys, which flew. The authoress wants to inform you that the combination of Candy Mountain, the Cocoa Queen and the Wizard of Oz just about reduced her to a giggling mess of an author. And kudos to you. ;) I must admit I rather enjoyed it myself! Especially the lasers … contraire to popular belief, I do enjoy a good laser battle myself. Congratulations on your … _imaginative _entry, Pisces!

**Mayu Koizumi**: _To prove that Mello is brilliant in every which way, Cheshire has kidnapped Mello in the dead of night, and brought him aboard said plane with naught but orders from Charlie. Charlie, however, does not specify how Cheshire is to go about proving Mello's brilliance._

_As such, somehow, magically, L has been resurrected from the dead, and Mello and L play a game of chess. And, as we all know, L is the only one Mello can't be a total asshole too. However when Mello loses the chess game (which we all know he will, because it's L), he still throws a hissy fit, because, well, he's Mello._

_L then disintegrates due to some interference with Cheshire's blind eyes that allow her to drive a car, leaving Mello simply beating a pile of dust with a chess board. Cheshire decides that Mello's intelligence is so great that it is impossible to understand it, and reports back to Charlie._

_It is then discovered that Cheshire's plane never actually left the ground, and that she was just hanging out in the cockpit for kicks._

_And for this entire time, Crash and Matt have been playing Halo back at headquarters._

WOW.

That's interesting … My orders? I authorised kidnap? Mello-nap … In the dead of night, no less? ... my goodness.

Ah, L! L makes an appearance, I see. Bien. He he, Mello is an 'ass-hole' … mon Dieu … Ha! I do like the logic at play, there, with Cheshire's eyes and poor L … And then, of course, in true Cheshire fashion, the plane's still grounded … _bien! _Tres, tres bien. I love how insane Cheshire appears … I do realise that even in real life, Cheshire can seem quite … different. But she translates well into fiction, I believe!

... I'm choking back giggles, with quite alarming results. Must - not - alert - Mello!! But that's HILARIOUS!! Perhaps made more hilarious by the fact that I yesterday heard Twix having a vry animated conversation about tsomething called Halo with Matt while she was _supposed _to be working ... I see you have noticed Crash's … 'incompetence' is such a strong word. But I don't think Crash is truly incompetent. He's very laid-back. Enjoys his down time. Something tells me he and Matthew will be good friends. Well done on your lunacy, ma chèrie! J'adore ca! Your parents must be … trés fier de toi. ;) I loved it.

However, it was the first entry that truly captured the quiet, simmering insanity of this challenge, and as an avid fan of anything with an FBLA reference, the winner of this contest must be **TheContheDistance. **Bravo, Con!

**TheContheDistance**:

_The reason why Cheshire's on a plane? Well, it's pretty simple._

_Near stole her car._

_He stole her car and keeping it hostage. Light is working alongside Near 'cause he wants her car too.  
So Cheshire teamed up with a terrorist organization (one called the FBLA... yes, the Future Business Leaders of America) in order to take back her car. She's in first class, with a samurai sword by her side (think Kill Bill style).  
And before going on to the plane, she found out that Matt is in love with her. And that Matt's been taken hostage by the FBLA, because they need a bargaining tool in case she double crosses them.  
Also, the Yakuza wants her car too because it's an amazing freaking car. They made it themselves. It's supposed to be the best racing car IN THE WORLD. Yesh. Best racing car ever.  
So when the plane lands Cheshire is going to meet up with Mello (since he needs to save his Matty-poo) and Gevanni (who quit the SPK 'cause he doesn't like of Near's attitude) and kick some ass. Probably Near's._

I must admit, though warned, I still had to giggle as I read this. The subtle undertones of humour really added zest to the piece, and, since the key ingredient of this challenge was oddity, well, you did a great job. Yes, it _is _an amazing car. Well done to Cheshire for buying it, too, completely on spec. It just happened to be what Paris described as 'possibly the sexiest thing to ever park itself on our side-walk'. I'm fairly sure he's making a sly joke there, but I try not to think about that sort of thing too hard.

I must say, Mello would _not _be pleased it he was to read this! Tee hee! He would think it didn't portray him as being devilish enough, or something … And as for Cheshire's affiliation with the Yazuka … maybe don't mention it to her, or she could pull out her samurai sword and butcher you before you can say, 'Oichi-Kabu' … ;) I don't ask questions. Maybe that's why I'm still alive. But Light? Who's Light? That's a weird name …then again, I can't really talk. But I'm kind of curio-

-Oh. Well. Mello would like to add his comments too, he just read over my should- … ow!! jksgfduyijkl

_My apologies for that._

_I'll be brief since I'm _trying _to do some work instead of judging some pointless contest for teenage girls. All I'll say is that Con should watch her back. Because I'll be shooting it if she doesn't shut her trap and keep her head down. Because some of us have plans. And some others should be aware that if those plans are compromised, heads will roll._

_… also, 'Matty-poo'? What the fuck? And since when was there anyone working for Near that wasn't licking his boots for fun? Everyone in his SPK is Near's bitch. Spineless pieces of shit._

_But I approve of the copious mentions of Near's ass being kicked. You gain my approval for that._

_Just don't let it happen again, Con. Because I'll be watching. Be sure of that._

… And that was Mello. Sorry about that. Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you. Um … I told you he was frightening. But anyway, I do rather need to get back to work myself. Well done yet again to **Con**, but also to **Mayu** and **Pisces**. Thanks for taking the chance and entering the contest, and I anticipate judging again, my friends! In fact ... I can't wait! La chance sourit aux audacieux, as my father would say. And may fortune follow all of you.

Bien à vous,

_Charlise

* * *

_

**... well. There you have it. And be assured, that nearly _killed me. _I swear to God. That was why Charlie judged. Because when I tried, I ended up calling Paula and tearing at my hair going, 'I CAN'T PICK!! HELP ME, YOU FOL!!'**

**Congrats to Con yet again, you crazy fol. Your prize shall show up in the next chappie!! Well done! YEEEEAAAAAAAYY!!! But don't worry, everybody! For there are MORE CAMEOS UP FOR GRABS!!! And if Pisces and Mayu and Con don't enter again, they shall be shot because I loved their entries. ;) Shot MELLO-STYLE!!  
**

**Here's what Cheshire was actually on the plane, for. It's all very mundane after those suggestions. But don't worry, it gets so much crazier in a little while. He he he ... and in T minus 1 CHAPTER, there's going to be more explosions. Aaaaaaawwww, yeah. ;) So keep watching the skies!! ... or something. And enjoy!**

**Pairings: **... they're so incredibly odd. No new suggestions. ;) To be honest, I can't decide because this thing is fairly determined to write itself. I don't have much control but your suggestions certainly influence me.

**Songs: **Don't Stop Believin' (For Cheshire ... I had song-block, okay??) and 'Mutt' by Blink 182. Mello is _such _a Mutt. His pants are _super tight. _;)

**Shout out to: **All of my contestants, GIVE IT UP FOR PISCES!! MAYU!! AND CON!!

He he, well done ladies. I approve. I also loved your reviews, but I'm absolutely dying of tiredness, and my brain is like a sponge that has been all squeezed out. So forgive me this once. I _loved _the entries and the reviews. Loved them. But here, to my lovely **Rat, **Yes. Yes, the waves of sexy-awesome-brilliance are just pouring out of Matt-tay. They really are. I am also a Wammy-boy-fan-girl ... yes ... and as such I'm enjoying writing them too!! MWA HA HA HA!! Thanks for the commendation. I am grateful. ;) AWW!! LOVING REVIEWER?? What the hell, A CHEER FOR RAT TOO!!

**Very quickly, to Lexy: **You fecker. ;) He he, got your message today, YAY!!! I'll reply ASAP. Until then, I give you ... CHAPTER!! ;)

**And to Paula: **Ya lej-bag, ye. ;) THANKS FOR ALL YOUR SUPER AMAZING IDEAS, FOL! Seriously, folks. Wait for Halloween in IQ HQ. It's going to epic ... courtesy of P.T.

**AND FINALLY, TO THE CHAPTER! HE HE! THE PLOT THICKENS ... SO REVIEW!

* * *

**

-

Phase 7: **Curiosity**

-

_Just don't question my EPICNESS._

-

'Get you anything from the menu card? Get you anything from the menu card?'

Good God, that woman (American. Young … twenties. Early twenties. Non-smoker, by the sounds of it) had an annoying voice. She was also committing several cardinal grammatical errors on top of this, (Where was the beginning of this question? How can you get something 'from' the menu card?) but beggars couldn't be choosers. And Cheshire knew that when she deigned to dip into colloquial speech herself, her own articulation was less than impeccable. It was still a good deal better than this air hostess's, though.

Cheshire sighed. She bet the girl was blonde.

Unfair? Maybe so. She couldn't see well enough in this dim light to make out anything beyond the general shadowy outline of the seat back in front of her and the orb of light from the control panel above her head. But still … Twix was blonde. Enough said. If that girl really _was _a genius … then she was just grimly clinging onto the status. It wasn't a secret that the two of them didn't get along.

But her prejudice against blondes wasn't serious. For instance, Austin was blonde. Blonde _and _Twix's twin. Very different than his sister, though. Shy. Fumbling. Unconfident and hesitant. Utterly brilliant.

And then, this Mello man. He was blonde. According to Charlie, of whom she had asked for a detailed description, anyway. Charlie could usually be relied upon for her descriptive abilities, even if she him as having 'une brûlure sur son visage. Épouvantable. Affreux." _A burn across his face. Terrible. Awful._

It had been very amusing. Very, very amusing.

But he was sharp; she could figure that much out. She was just prejudiced against blondes.

She couldn't even tell that Twix had blonde hair by looking at her. It was a pity. Charlise said that Twix's hair was very pretty, especially in the sunlight. But then again, having nyctalopia had many downsides.

Nyctalopia. What she called 'night blindness' when addressing children (and people of average intelligence). She sighed. Places like this were no good for her; dark and dull and dim. She needed light, lots of light to see anything. As it was, she wouldn't be able to walk down the aisle of the aircraft unaided. It was too dark and closed in. So dark.

She hated the darkness. She _knew _she was blind (probably getting blinder) but in the darkness, this was so much more frightening. In the bright, clean outdoors … Cheshire was alive. And her sight was almost there. A fuzzy, incomplete picture, but sometimes colour! Shape! … all of these things stolen from her. She had never seen her own reflection. Never seen her mother's face. Never seen a sunrise. But she had watched them all; through fuzzy, partially sighted eyes … watched and felt. And had missed nothing.

Nyctalopia. (opposite, hermeralopia. "Day vision") Cheshire had been suffering since her birth from it. Well, it was probably better that way, she reasoned. She couldn't miss sight, if she'd never had it. But even in light … in light, there was pain. Too much light was painful. That was why she wore the glasses when she drove; to banish the painful rays of light.

Those stabbing, cloying rays that always seemed to be seeking her out; trying to subdue her. Well, they could keep trying. Cheshire was twenty-two years old. She had a hell of a lot of living to do; fallibilities forgotten.

That was probably why she loved driving. She was in control; utterly so, behind the wheel. With her shades in place, and the bright expanse of the windscreen before her, there was light and protection enough to allow her to enjoy the driving experience. She could make out the general distinction of the road and always noticed pedestrians, and could work out the colour of the traffic lights fairly easily. In general, Crash sat in the front with her just in case, but she knew it was just a precaution of Charlie's. Especially since Crash was out for the count five minutes into any journey.

But here … ugh. She hated plane journeys.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Three beeps. Looked like Charlie was giving her a call.

'Paris,' she whispered, elbowing the man dozing in the seat next to her. 'Wake up. Charlie's calling.'

'Mmmh.' the man roused himself and yawned wearily. Poor guy. He wasn't having a very good time of things recently. It was obvious to Cheshire in particular that Paris resented these new members of the IQ family. She could sense it. He was suspicious of them. And then he had nearly gotten caught yesterday by the police … his kleptomania was not a registered illness, and so if he was caught stealing something, he was brought before the courts. Poor Paris. He couldn't help it. The itching started in his finger, and he couldn't relax until he'd left headquarters and thieved until he could calm down.

He had been late last night, and their flight had been an early one. He was understandably exhausted.

'Cheshire, copy.'

'Copy, Charlie.'

'Great. Paris? Copy?'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm awake.'

Charlie paused for a moment, wrong-footed.

'Did I wake you? I'm sorry.'

'No, no, 's fine. 'M fine.'

He was anything but fine. Charlie knew that, but tactfully didn't pursue it. Paris blinked and tried to con himself into waking up.

_Ah, Charlie,_ Cheshire thought. _I'll never know how you do it._

oOo

There was something very soothing about her lab. And it _was _her lab, purpose-built for her requirements, without any unnecessary interference.

In her lab, _Charlie_ was in control_. _She didn't have to worry about delicate situations, or tensions, of anyone else's irritating free will. There was nothing in this lab that wasn't completely under her personal command.

Maybe that was why she was there right now, instead of in Control Central, where she should be. She should be checking monitors and hacking systems and being very conscientious and in control. But she wasn't. Instead, she was in her underground lab, mixing chemicals and dropping iodine, with one measly computer and one surveillance monitor to oversee the operation at hand. Cheshire was taking over this time around; and really, Charlie was pretty glad. She had cleared the operation, and changed parts of it, to make sure it wouldn't be recognisable, but it wasn't really her thing. Even if it had been her idea. There was a lot more explosions in it than had been in the original draft, courtesy of Cheshire. (Of course.)

Another drop of iodine. _Ah. That's better. _(Christ, Charlie, you sound like a druggie …)

She couldn't calm the feeling that there was something wrong with this. Maybe it was that she didn't really mind Near, and in all honesty, had respect for him, too. She had been taught to respect intelligence by her guardian. Before he had come to nurture her talent, she hadn't even respected her own. Blowing up things wantonly to try and distract him while she got Paprika to hack into his files … it didn't seem very poised. Not that Mello was complaining. He was all up for this plan, to her surprise. Aggressively enthusiastic. Matt shot him a slightly derisive look every time he suggested another facet of this plan, Charlise had noticed. Nothing major; just a look. That was all.

It was enough.

She had a lot of respect for Matt, too. She knew that of anyone in the world, he knew Mello the best. That was something to be proud of, and well-deserving of her esteem.

This was Mello and Cheshire's plan, really. Charlie was just supervising. It was still her organisation … but she was letting Mello find his feet, she told herself, decidedly. She refused to admit that Mello was taking over, already. That seven years of work was whistling by her finger-tips and she was too afraid to grab it. Too afraid to admit that she had no desire to. She had always hated being in charge. And it was so easy to just give up …

No. No, no, no, that was silly! She'd be back on board, soon. Definitely. On board and in control. Completely.

She added another drop to the test sample before her, and tried not to let the guilt consume her, her only thought, _Sensei will not be pleased …_

oOo

It was at times like this when Mello really forgot this wasn't the mafia anymore. And that Charlise frowned upon exploding things "for the sake of it". But she had left this up to him. And the blind girl. Cheshire. She was one tough cookie, he had to admit.

The feed onscreen switched to Charlise in her lab. She was leaning over the camera, adjusting it.

'Um, Mello, do you copy?' she ventured, sticking a pen into the pocket of her lab coat and blinking anxiously into the screen.

'Copy.'

'Okay. Any word from Paprika, anyone?'

'None here, Charlie,' Cheshire reported dutifully. Mello agreed, bringing up the Google Earth image of the street where, supposedly Near's headquarters were located. Home place of the great SPK. Presided over by the great Near. Ha. He'd see how great Near was when he was fleeing the burning wreckage of his headquarters …

Mello glanced up at the screen of Charlise, as if wary she might be able to hear his mutinous thoughts. No, of course not. She was shaking a vial absently as she hit a few keys. See, there her eyes looking grey. It was a continuing source of puzzlement to Mello what colour they actually were. The currently-grey eyes looked speculatively into the camera and she smiled.

'This is a little odd. How's it going, Mello?'

'Fine. I have a lock on the plane's position. So far, Paprika is out of contact, but I'll continue attempting.'

She nodded and set the vial down, reaching up to absently pull a hand through the thick waves of her bright hair.

'Bien. Eh … carry on, so.'

Certainly, Mello resented being ordered about; or even the pretence that this child was in charge of him. But … somehow … this girl? No. He didn't even waste time on annoyance. That was one certain thing about her; she wasn't in charge of him. As far as he could see, she hadn't much control over her organisation, even. People followed her orders, but he couldn't see the strength behind her authority. She didn't appear to have any.

She shut the connection, and a 'C' flared onscreen in her place.

Mello smirked. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

'Mello-san.'

'Yes.'

'The operation is still a go-ahead, correct? T-minus 1 day, 8 hours, 26 minutes.'

'Correct.'

'Affirmative.'

Yes, Cheshire was indeed the sort of person Mello could deal with. Not hampered by an overly sensitive manner, she obviously knew what she wanted and how to get there.

Mello's musings were interrupted as the elevator door slid open. Before the red-head had even stepped inside, Mello knew it would be Matt's skulking form that he'd see. The distinctive beeping and tinny noises of explosions had seen to that.

'Mellz,' Matt greeted monotonously, slouching over to occupy a chair beside the blonde.

'Hello, Matt.'

''Sup?'

'Blowing up Near's head quarters.'

'Seriously? Huh. Imagine that.'

Matt didn't even glance up, but frowned as he tensed and shifted his body, obviously in correspondence to the game he was playing.

'So, uh … what's the – plan? I zoned if you tried to explain it … why are you – blowing it – up?'

Matt hissed in frustration. Mello was quiet for a moment, instead deciding to entertain himself by watching the gamer mash his digits into the controller, and contort as convincingly as if he was on the battle-field himself.

Then Matt glanced up, and Mello stirred himself.

'Uh, we're blowing up places of interest of all of the members of the SPK … Not really blowing them up, but setting off explosions there. Just to distract them. Then this Paprika chick is going to try and access Near's files. The girl says she's good. Says it'll freak him out. All we need is a distraction, really.'

'Huh. Okay. Cool. Kinda weird, though,' Matt said, frowning, as he reset the machine.

'It doesn't seem like Charlise's thing, really. To blow stuff up. It's a little … unpolished. Doesn't seem like her.'

What the hell? _Doesn't seem like Charlise's thing._ Mello examined Matt's face for a moment. It was carefree as it usually was, no change there. But a new dimple of care formed a tiny v over the bridge of his nose. Barely noticeable. But still … there.

'Yeah, well … she didn't put up too much resistance, really.'

'Jesus, Mello, it sounds like you raped her.'

Matt flicked the button on his console again, and the screen flared blue, illuminating a glare on his goggles.

'What do you mean, anyway?'

'Well, what I said. She caved. Doesn't seem to really be in control, here.'

'Really? I thought she was way in control. The backbone of this thing.'

Mello watched Matt again, obviously starting a new game, one less violent than the other one, if his lack of twitching was anything to go by. Which, knowing Matt, it probably wasn't.

'What do you mean?' Mello asked, surprised at the iciness of his own voice. Matt glanced up and down quickly, eyes wide in innocence.

'I just … um. She seems like a pacifist. More interesting in words than actions. I don't know. I could be seeing things. It just seems like she tries to do her best and do what's expected of her despite her own opinions. And everyone had such admiration for her … Given the diversity in people here, I'm assuming she deserves their adoration. She doesn't seem like the type you could just push around. Or should.'

_Anyone else but Matt. Anyone else, their opinion was void. _Mello didn't give a rat's _ass_ what anyone thought of him any more. Except probably Matt, and even Matt's opinion was to be in general, ignored. Matt said what he thought, regarding Mello. Usually, there were more than a few hidden pearls of wisdom in his words. Mello had paid the price for ignoring him before, and he knew he should take what Matt said on board.

But this kid … he had felt all that himself. Like he was kicking around a little deer or something. Like he was beating up Bambi, or caging Tinkerbell, or something. And why his metaphors had all turned to popular culture references regarding children's stories, he had no idea. Maybe it was just that girl. She was like something out of a kid's story herself. The gentle, fragile heroine, or the delicate fairy princess …

Or the _witch_, maybe?

He stopped the thought and returned to Matt, hitting buttons faster, now.

'Thank you, Matt,' he said, graciously. 'I'll take that on board.'

'Sure thing, bro … Any time …'

Mello turned back to the screen, and gazed blankly at it. His mind was a thousand miles away. Well, less. It was five stories away, downwards, in an underground laboratory, revolving around a gentle straw-berry blonde girl.

A girl Mello could still gain malicious pleasure from tormenting, despite her frailty and limp and sweet, sweet smile … for one reason alone.

She reminded him strongly, powerfully, _inescapably _of another small, delicate, intelligent creature. A cute little thing. A frail little thing. The thing he had once thought was the _only _thing in this world that could surpass him.

_Near. _

This innocent, friendly little French girl … that was it. Near. Something about her …

And for that reason, he could ignore Matt's sagacious words, and continue plotting his attack.

Because Mello didn't hate Near. Not really.

He _envied _him.

xXx

* * *

_He pauses shaving and he tells himself that he is the bomb  
She has her curlers set, her credit cards are paying the funds  
He's not that old, I've been told, a strong sexual goal  
He goes out everyday, she goes every way, oh yeah ...  
And they don't even care at all ...  
- Mutt, Blink 182

* * *

_**A/N: So ... blowing things up? What shall happen? What will be found? Who the hell is sensei? **

**Find out next time, in IQ: Unbeatable!!**

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	8. Phase 8: Intentions

**Thank CHRIST I have some semblance of plot now, at least ...at least and at LAST. No, I did have plot, but now I have all of these crazy layers building up ... and it's going to be epic. Crash was right. ;) By the way, do any of you speak French out there? Because this is all m'Junior Cert and an online dictionary, so sorry if you're like, 'WTF? What's WITH this child?'**

**Pairings: **Hmmmmm .... hmmmmmmmm ... well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?

**Songs: **Four Minutes, Madonna and J.T. (I know. But seriously, it just _burst _into my head and I couldn't _not _use it) and Decode, Paramore.

**Shout out to: **As ever, my amazingly super-fabulous and faithful four reviewers ... To **Pisces**, getting carried away is the best. Seriously. If you didn't get carried away, then there would be no such thing as fan ficiton. I love Charlie too ... she's great. Aw, THANKS, HUN! I'm glad you're enjoying the Matello love ... COMPLETELY PLATONIC LOVE. COMPLETELY. ;) To **Rat **... -blinks- Ah-ha ha ha ... ha ... ha ... Okay. Seriously, child, you should be a vet. I'm sitting here, twitching slightly going, 'JESUS, DON'T LET ME HAVE MUTILATED CHESHIRE!!' ;) He he he, no, I'm pretty sure it's humanoid ... there's two types, and five types of blindness ... and yes, I did research all of this nerdily far into the night for the sake of fic. ;) Yes! Anyway! .. oh, yes, Paris. He's AWESOME. I'm kind of secretly in love with him myself ... Shhhh! It's a secret ... Yeah, it IS a bit of a scary thought! We shall restrain Mello from kicking babies and puppies ... and Charlie can guard Chesney. But it'll be cool, because we _do _love him anyway. ;) -high fives you back- Right on, girlfriend! Thanks for another great review! To **Mayu**, okay, okay, first I forgot this in my message, but listen to the song 'Vanilla Twilight' by Owl City, and tell me it doesn't remind you of MATT!! I listened to it like, 'AWWW!! I LOVE YOU, MATTY!' He was on my mind at the time, but really. It's just so cute and spacey and sweet ... LIKE MATT! Anyway. -sticks plaster over shattered universe- There you go. GOOD AS NEW! ;) .. and that's the spirit, Lex! Proud of my, my Legend-Apprentice. He he he YAY! I'm glad Charlie's thing actually made a difference! THANK CHRIST. Ah, and next time, mai lav! Next time! AND I MESSAGED!! PROUD OF ME??? I know you are. ;) And finally, to **Con**, AH!! BLESS!! Your reaction is so cute. AHHHH!! -glomps- ... YAY!! A DEVOUT IQian! ;) Eh, Charlie says no problem, and that Light's still a weird name, but then again, Twix is named for a chocolate bar ... Oh, and she says she _would _hit Mello, but he'd hit her back and probably break something. ;) And as for Mello ... when she told him he had a message from an admiring fan, he just growled and stormed out of the building. PMS, much?

Oh. My. God. I actually WANT that to happen. I MAY ALSO STEAL THIS FROM YOU!! That's it, every time I use an idea of yours, you get a credit. ;) And I've totally fallen in love with your cameo girl, so now I'm like, 'Waaaaah ... I want to keep her ...' So I may do that too. I'M SUCH A SCAB! ANd I wasn't on schedule with this, so though she's introduced, she doesn't appear 'til the nest chapter. I'm so sorry. YOU **FOL**! I can't believe I got called a fol by someone other than P.T.! THAT'S SO COOL!!

**TAKE MY POLL ON THE HOMEPAGE, FOLS! L IS IN THE LEAD! SOMEONE VOTE FOR MELLO-KINS! QUICK! AND REVIEW!

* * *

**

-

Phase 8: **Intentions**

-

_They're usually not honourable. _

-

_Aujourd'hui, c'est le dix-neuf de fevrier._

- Today, it is the nineteenth of February.

_Il fait tres bien; il y a du soleil, et un peu du vent._

- It's very nice today; there's sun, and a little bit of wind.

_J'attends avec impatience de weekend, et une chance que relaxer._

- I'm looking forward to the weekend, and the chance to relax.

oOo

_Desperate. That's desperate, Charlie._

This was why she hated writing Dixon emails. They sounded so … stilted. So unnatural. Ugh. She tried so hard on her letters, and in the end, his careless replies sounded so much more … _alive, _than her laborious, robotic attempts. She _hated _it. She loved Dixon more than she loved anything in the world, but even with him, she couldn't be herself.

The thought … hurt.

It wasn't helping that she had another email on her mind. Much more formal that Dixon's lazy attempts, with all of that awful English slang; a much more focussed, even piece. So much more worrying.

She had accessed it yesterday on one of her many accounts; this one that was _, _a fake name, obviously. Her whole name was fake. Charlise? Ha. As if, as Twix would say.

It was a simple email, all the more deadly for this fact.

_Charlie-chan._

_I will return to you in six days. I will not require collection from the airport. You have much to discuss with me._

_Honourably yours,_

_Takayama Keiji_

That was it. Just three sentences, and it still left her cringing in her seat. Physically cringing. So much so that Twix had stopped her in alarm.

'Hey, hey, are you okay?'

Blink.

'Yes. I am fine.'

And Twix had walked away, her eyes wide in the international, _that-chick-is-crazy _expression.

But, oh, _God, _could this be any worse?

Yes. Yes, it definitely could, Charlie scolded herself. It wasn't that bad. It could be lots worse. She just couldn't think of anything worse right _now. _

She stared desperately at her failure of an attempt at an email and quickly deleted it. She craved his praise so much. Too much. And yet here she was … failing. Purposefully.

'T minus one hour, Charlise.'

'Merci, Mello.'

Her own voice sounded whispery and faint to her ears. She glanced up to look at Mello through the gap between the monitors. His golden hair glinted saffron under the bright lighting, and for a moment, Charlise just watched it glimmer, and sighed for it's beauty.

A movement onscreen caught her attention, and she saw her email account reloading. A new message flared in her inbox, to her surprise. She read the name – _paris. – _and a warm bubble of anticipating rose in her belly. There was no message subject. She clicked to read it.

_Char,_

_No more carnage when we get back, how about. ;) Well, Cheshire is in her element, but that's not saying a lot. She's generally in her element anywhere there is the fire. Or things exploding for no reason. _

_Oh, Christ, she's giggling. You know things are bad when she's giggling. Freaking psycho. _

_Oh, she just asked me what I'm writing. I'm meant to be … I don't know, doing "something constructive", I assume. I think it's kinda funny that you're in charge and I'm blatantly not doing any work to send you a pointless email. You should feel so proud. ;)_

_London is pretty nice, at the moment, at least. We're in a hotel in some swanky suburb, got a taxi here. This place must be seriously pricey, Charlie. They've got a T.V. and it's not chained to the floor. It may actually be in _colour _too. I shall investigate …_

_It _is _in colour! Well, you learn something new every day! Thanks for that, Charlie. Without this dire email, I may never have checked. :)_

_I should probably go and do actually work or something now. Sigh. Feel proud of me, Char. Seriously, though, when I get back, no more carnage and explosions and shit for a while. Let's go do something like normal people. Like see a movie, or something … one without explosions. We can pretend we're normal. It'll be fun. What do you say?_

_Missing the peace of HQ (and you)_

_x Paris _

Oh, Paris. His best intentions had only led to more issues. Honestly, Charlie was starting to think that no other girl had to suffer through as many issues as she did. Except maybe … schizophrenics, or something.

His best intentions. Ha. The intentions that had Charlise locked in place, utterly immobile as she processed the intention behind the words.

A … _date?_

Oh, yes. That was _all _she needed right now.

oOo

His fingers were fumbling, he was wasting time.

_Shit, shit, shit …_

He smacked the explosives in place, praying they were secure and sprinted away down the street, not pausing until he was on the main road and flinging himself into the passenger seat of the hired car they would have to incinerate in three hours.

Cheshire felt the car shake as Paris wrenched the door open and then the impact as he flung himself in. Before he had panted, 'Go, go, for Christ's sake, go!' she was already slamming the car into gear and stamping down with her foot. The grey suburban houses streaked past the windows, and the steady purr of the engine was calming. Paris tried to cease his panting, and raised a cuff to wipe the sweat from his brow. Cheshire knew better than to try and talk to him.

Paris tried to suck in enough oxygen to sustain his racing heart, and raised one bare hand to tug his dark, silky hair back from his forehead, attempting to calm down enough to understand what had happened.

He'd messed up. He'd hesitated because he heard a kid's voice inside.

'Mummy! Can I have a biscuit now?'

He'd heard it, frozen, and dropped the charges. Dropped them, right over the pavement. A _child?_ He hadn't reckoned for a child. No one had said there'd be a kid here. Paris didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. The thought of hurting a kid - _any_ kid, really brought this sick, prickling feeling into his stomach. Made his legs go all weak; and his head spin. That was the God's honest.

You shouldn't hurt kids. You should protect them. You should _always _protect them, from whatever harm you could in this violent, frightening world. There was nothing more precious than a child.

It was happening again. _Not now, Christ, no, not now …_Memories. Crashing, immobilizing memories and thoughts and voices, all overwhelming, all far too present for things that had happened long ago. And here, now of all times, miles away from anyone who could stop them …

'What are you _doing?_ Focus, Paris, focus! Plant the charges and _get the fuck out of there!_'

The new guy. Paris gritted his teeth as the voice brought him back to reality, and with a last ditch effort, he smacked the explosives in place and ran for it.

Cheshire took a sharp turn to the right, ignoring all traffic laws as she slammed through the streets at a wildly unreasonable speed.

'Cheshire, slow down. We're in time,' he said, lightly, even as he raked at the scars on his arms. He was glad Cheshire couldn't see. Glad no one could see.

Cheshire didn't reply, but braked gently until they were travelling at a speed that was consistent with the other traffic on the road.

The new guy. He couldn't stand him. This prestigious Second, as Charlie explained. Ha. What a joke. In Paris's eyes, no one could surpass that girl for intellect, and nothing that this so-called 'Second' had done yet had convinced him otherwise. Charlise was in a league of her own, in his eyes. No one else knew just how much of a genius she really was. Smart enough to still be alive with all of those people chasing her. Smart enough to function in normal, everyday life. Smart enough to understand him; probably the only one in this great world who did.

This new guy. The red-headed one … he could deal with him. Mostly because he was such a spacey, barely competent addition to the team. Paris had spoken to him perhaps twice in the week since he'd joined. Once was to warn him to check the sell-by date on the mayonnaise he was eating straight from the jar, and the second was to ask him what floor he lived on so he could press the button when the ended up in the elevator together.

He could deal with that. But the blonde … it was probably clear to everyone that sparks were going to fly. And not the pretty, happy kind of sparks that he hoped might someday fly between himself and a certain girl … the cutting, fizzing _I will hurt you and never regret it _kind of sparks. He could sense it when he had seen Charlise's worried face, and the desperate glance she had exchanged with Crash.

But suddenly Charlie's voice interrupted his vengeful thoughts.

'Paris, Cheshire, copy.'

'Copy,' he replied, automatically, feeling slightly lighter. Cheshire repeated him.

'Paris, the operation was successful, yes?'

'Affirmative, Charlie.'

'Excellent,' she breathed a sigh of relief. 'In that case, please make for your hotel with all haste. The operation shall commence in T minus 36 minutes.'

'Roger that, Charlie. Over and out.'

'Wait. Make sure … be careful.'

Two words, and he could tell she had her suspicions over his current state. Just two words, and they made him ache with longing.

'Sure thing, Char. Catch you later,' he forced himself to say, and heard the connection cut off.

The car was silent for a moment, before Cheshire spoke, softly.

'Still the same, huh, Paris?'

He pushed himself back in his seat and glared out of the passenger window, silently.

'I'm not judging,' she pointed out, gently. 'I'm just saying. It's a long way to fall.'

Paris smiled, a cold, mirthless smile.

'It's a little late for that,' he told her, staring straight ahead.

'Yeah,' she said, 'I suppose it is.'

oOo

Paprika stumbled into the surveillance room and took just a half a moment to raise her eyes to heaven and wonder idly what the _hell _was wrong with this kid. Charlie was the same age as him, maybe just a tad older, and she'd had a 'difficult childhood' too, but you didn't see her totally let herself go.

Near glanced up from his position on the floor where he was making a (probably scale replica) model airplane twist into all sorts of odd aerobatics above his head, and stared pointedly down at Paprika's shoes.

'Why do you wear them,' he asked, pausing to set the delicate plane down, 'if you can't walk in them?'

Paprika inconspicuously stole a look at her shoes. She didn't remember which ones she had put on that morning.

Ah. Yes. Well, for these, she would suffer so much more than a twisted ankle. Patent leather, cream and black high heeled brogues. _Completely _worth the hundreds they had cost (Charlie). They were the best birthday present she had ever received. She had known this morning when she put them on that she'd need the confidence boost.

Paprika was, simply put, a beauty. Thick, dark hair, smooth and perfect tanned skin, wide brown eyes, huge pouting lips. Tall, statuesque with legs that went on for years and curves that only intensified the jealous stares of the woman she passed every day. She was beautiful. She knew it, too, and put it to _work_. She was in control around here, thanks to the beauty that was just literally a genetic chance. But she didn't care. It worked for her.

The shoes had already done their work today. She had watched Commander Rester's jaw tense when she slunk by, and seen his grip on the files tighten exponentially. Gevanni hadn't been so subtle. She had seen in the mirror his jaw drop as she walked through the room, and had smirked. The rest of them could wait; if she had to seduce anyone in the SPK, she'd be hard-pressed to choose between Stephen and Rester. She'd always had a thing for older guys, and as for Stephen? He was simply … _gorgeous. _Paris-style gorgeous. That kind of smouldering magnetism was hard to come by.

Then again, maybe the reaction had less to do with the shoes and more to do with the yards of exposed thigh on display today …

Where was she? Ah. Yes. Near.

'That's rich,' she settled on, snorting, 'coming from a guy who doesn't even _try _to wear shoes.'

He took the dig silently, picking up the craft again.

'True,' he agreed after a moment. Things were silent, before Paprika caught a glimpse of the clock. It was two minutes to two o'clock. Two minutes to show-time. She sighed. What a bore.

Well. Might as well act like she gave a damn. And so, for a whole two minutes, Paprika sat down and started retyping some old files. And then, the system shut down, thanks to the code that someone working for Charlie had sent her. She had programmed them in last night, and they were just in time. _Act, _she told herself. _Act like you've never acted before. _

'N-Near?' she asked, proud of the quaver in her voice. Near looked up, and watched the blank screen for a moment, before speaking.

'Ah. Call Commander Rester, will you?'

Nodding, Paprika did as bidden, and a few moments later, Commander Rester rushed in, followed by Gevanni and Halle Lidner. Paprika tried to ignore her. She couldn't stand that woman, and she was sure the feeling was mutual.

The three arranged themselves at once at monitors and screens around the room, and Paprika steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming.

All screens shut to black. The others raised confused cries, but Near merely continued staring at the blackness, raising a thumb to his mouth, and the jagged letters appeared.

_ShOULd haVe TAkeN BeTTEr CaRE, sTePHen._

And then the live-action clip was on all the screens. The tiny flat where Gevanni lived when he wasn't working, in the house he shared with a young family. There was a clear shot of a news program being broadcast right now on a television, visible through a window. A countdown in red was superimposed over the image.

3.

2.

1.

And then … the television exploded from inside the locked house. Then the door. Then all of the windows.

_soRrY, KId. _

Stephen was pale, pale white, and sweating, grasping hanks of his hair in his fist.

Near was still staring at the screen, and some new words materialized, as the shot of Gevanni's house disappeared.

_SUch a PiTY, HaLLE._

A shot of close to the headquarters they were standing in at the moment, of Halle's shining sports car. A dummy sat in the driver's seat; a Halle dummy, complete with blonde hair, lipstick gash for a mouth, and snazzy clothes.

A T.V. sat in the back-seat, showing the same program. And then-

3.

2.

1.

The Halle-doll exploded. And the television. She gasped, flinging a hand over her mouth in horror.

Paprika wanted to mouth along with the words that appeared. She had composed them herself, after all.

_nExT TiME, pAy LEsS AtteNTiON tO YoUR HAir, dOLL._

And now, Paprika's turn. She would have bounced excitedly, if she didn't have the necessary stricken look on her face.

_SuCh a SHAmE, PaNDa-BEar._

She was so proud of working the pet-name of her alias – Pandora Wilson – in there. And then the salon she had supposedly worked in as a teenager. The T.V. on the wall was showing the same program, and an explosion later it was gone, along with three hairdryers.

(Paprika knew in three days, they'd be refunded in full with a little extra by Charlie. That girl had such a soft heart.)

_JuST yOuR LUck, reaLly._

The screen faded to black, and the last sentences flared up.

_You've been warned, Near._

And then, the piece de resistance, a bomb flashed on screen. Ticking. Counting down from six hours to detonation, with a keypad attached to it, and a sheet of paper lying beside it.

_Let me give you a clue; it's hidden in Wammy's. It will explode in six hours, if you don't enter the code. And no one will decode it but you._

_You have six hours._

_-But don't worry, I've had my fun. I won't bother you after this. But a piece of advice, Near -_

_He WhO LaUGhs LaST LAugHS BEst._

_Let's see you laugh your way out of this one. _

And then the camera feed cut. The blackness lifted. The computers started to reboot. The headquarters were silent, until Near stood composedly, and turned to Eester.

'Commander, prepare transportation. I need to get to Winchester.'

'Y-yes, Near,' the man said, visibly shaken. 'I'll get Con.'

'Who's Con?' Paprika couldn't help but ask. Halle answered her, no hostility in her voice for once. Obviously, she assumed having things of theirs blown up should bring the two closer together. She was dead wrong.

'The new chauffeur. An old friend of Near's, apparently … another genius.'

_Oh, great, just what we need around here. _Another _genius. _

Near turned the plane over in his hands idly.

'It seems I underestimated Mello,' he remarked, to himself, as he padded from the room, leaving one guilty woman, one shameless victor and one scared man to make of things what they would.

oOo

Thirty-six seconds later, Charlise received a text message, one line long.

_Melodramatic, isn't he? ;P xxx_

xXx

* * *

_The road to hell is paved with good intentions ...  
- 4 Minutes, Madonna, Justin Timberlake ft. Timbaland

* * *

_

**A/N: Well. That ending was NOT planned ... oh well! It's all good.**

**Everyone who loves Paris, RAISE YOUR HANDS!**

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	9. Phase 9: Discovery

**Flaaaaah. I just got m'SWINE FLU JAB! Yeah! Cause I'm asthmatic, if I didn't get it, I could die, or something ... ha ... so, yeah, I got it! MAKE SURE YOU GET ONE TOO! I can't have my readers like, dying all over the shop. It would NOT BE COOL, folks. ;)**

**Oh, yes, and a note to all of the random people who favourited and alerted this ... uh, thanks! Do drop me a word to say hi, because (remember now) I know who you are ... so if you don't bother me, I'll bother you. ;) Please do send me a word or two to say why you like it! I don't bite, and I am (as all of my homies - that is to say, readers - know) ridiculously over-eager! **

**So. Nine chapters, and I'm not running out of steam! -touch wood- We'll have a party when I get to ten. ;)**

**Pairings: **Ah, feck it all, it's suspense! And ha, I just introduced another to the mix ... ha ha ha ... ha ... I'm EBIL!!

**Songs: **Slipped Away, Avril Lavigne (for Charlie and her mother ... I had a sadder one, but not for this bit ...) and Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes. You can access these as ever on my homepage. ;P

**Shout Outs! : **To **smearedliner**, I say OMM, NEWBIE!! (oh my Mello ... if they can do it with Edward Cullen, I can do it with Mello ... oh, my, that sounds bad ... -crosses arms- UNDERAGE! I'M UNDERAGE!) ... sorry. ;) Anyway, HI, NEWBIE!! ;) He he, ah, I see! Another Chess fan. God, what did I do to make her so special, I would _love _to know! Her and Matt sounds really cute, actually. Aww, bless. Yes, I thought that pairing would take, actually. And if that's the case, then ... I'M WILD! PICK ME, MATTY!! ;) He he, thanks for the review, I hope you come back! To **Pisces**, the bomb-diggity! THAT'S SO CUTE! Damn, Twix is so going to say that sometime ... it's a very Twixish thing to say, I must admit! But he _is_. God, who knew someone so sexy lived in my brain? ;D But I'm sure the kid was fine and OH MY MELLO!! YOU KNOW ABOUT GUY LOVE??? THAT'S AMAZING. Me and Paula ALWAYS thought that, though everyone thought we were crazy. I LOVE YOU PISCES!! YAY!! YOU'RE THE BOMB-DIGGITY! ;) To **Mayo the Mayonnaise Girl who Masquerades as Mayu Koizumi** ... ;) -steadies you from falling and wonders how you got all of those limbs in the air- he he HEY LEX! Where've you _been_, girl? ;'( I MISSED YOU!! ;) He he he, anyway, OH MY LORD! Jesus, a lot of Paris-love here! But I understand. He's amazing. But Chess will get some lovin', I swear! (you'll hurt me otherwise ... ;) ) And I FINALLY got your message, child ... ;) He he, I'll be back to you in a flash! ... AND LISTEN TO VANILLA TWILIGHT! IT'S EPIC!! ;) And to **OH MY GOD IT'S ShiverySox**, wow. Fancy you showing your face around here! She's on the list?? It's because of her (your) shoes, right?

Who is that child?  
I love that child.  
I _want _that child.

It's Shikamar_u_.

;) He he he!! AND OH WAOH!! Everyone look. I actually have to reproduce this, because I'm so proud.

"_"You know what? You actually are an amazing writer, you've a bloody great talent there, child! Seriously , I just really - like REALLY - noticed it there now... epiphany moment there... but there's all these fanfics and what have you which are fair enough but there's just something... off. You read it, and you get it but you just don't feel it... (feel was so in italics there)_

Anyway, I was just there reading this there, just reading like I always do - "Ah yeah, this is great, funny, interesting, yeah..." and what have ya - like I was reading some random book that I stole off you or my Dealio, like (I still have your Demon's Lexicon btw) and I was just soaking up the story you know, going along, no bother... when suddenly I really, fully realised…

Aoife WROTE this.

And not just wrote it: like CREATED it… this world that I can SEE, had no existence at all, before you came and created and shaped it into something that's so REAL with nothing but words… just words…

It's crazy….  
You're crazy…  
I'M CRAZY!!

Yeah ok I am pretty crazy… but I was wanted to share my deep moment with you… Well, I think its deep… Anyway you probably want to know what I thought of the actual story, not just about my strange and sudden realisations… You're also probably like "PAULA, WTF HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING, CHILD?" but yeah, whatever… I love you… in a platonic way obviously… just to clear that up for the people that are making a manga of our lives… ;)"

AW!! ISN'T THAT THE CUTEST?? I LOVE YOU TOO, FOL!! ... in a platonic way ... -dartseyes-

And I'll be brief, but I will say that I LOVE your stonerfish ramblings. (But she's not stoned! Just to clear that up!) -snorts- Yeah, Paula. Play another one. ;)

And finally, to **Con**, I'm raisin' it! Raisin' it good! ;) Ha ha, I'm glad you like, she's in it for at least another chappie! I hope you like her attire! OH MY GOD, I'm like the Pope of your new religion! YES! Ha ha ha ... I love the insanity of your review. Love love LOVE IT! And Near _is _on drugs. Valium, I bet. Seriously, that stuff _stones _you. ;) AW! GLAD YOU LIKED! I'm looking forward to paris and Mello talking too ... heh, what a great pairing that would be ... SEE YOU SOON, FOL!! ENJOY YOUR CAMEO!

**COMING SOON, FLU JABS, PASSWORDS AND BROKEN ENGLISH! SO REVIEW AND ENJOY!!

* * *

**-

Phase 9: **Discovery**

-

_I'm a doctor, not an actor._

_What does _that _mean?_

-

When Charlise wasn't Charlise; when she was a little strawberry-haired girl with big, innocent eyes and an equally innocent smile, she was going to be a chocolatier. Like her mother.

The mother who sat her up on the counter and let her watch and help when it was too wet to play outside, or when dolls lost their allure, or daddy had left on business again, or when Charlise who wasn't Charlise said, 'Please, maman?' The mother with the same bright hair, a deeper, fierier colour, that she wore curled and pinned like her daughter would in years to come. The mother who said 'yes' when daddy said 'no', and who laughed at everything funny, and who understood Charlise better than anyone would until she was eighteen years old.

She was going to be a chocolatier, and work with her mother forever. She would make the same sweets, maybe create some new ones. She would work the delicate dark chocolates filled with violet crème, fill the paper-thin baskets of chocolate with whatever filling – mint, orange, mango, strawberry – and drizzle chocolate on top. Maybe one day she'd be good enough to make the little shoes of chocolate that her mother made for special occasions. One day.

'One day, this will all be yours,' her mother said, using the name she had chosen for her daughter; the one Charlise wasn't even supposed to think any more. They had been in the shop her mother had bought when she was just twenty with a friend. The shop that she had cultivated into a success all by herself, so that it was famed all around for the best chocolates and confections in the county; perhaps in France. The shop filled with sweets to make you happy; to turn even the most miserable of days around. A shop full of skill. The little girl couldn't begin to dare imagine that she should someday be as successful as her bright, vibrant mother, and merely blinked around at the bright shelves, while the proud smile curved over her mother's lips, and she laid a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder.

She couldn't believe. So she just closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the chocolate, the comforting, rich scent that filled her completely. The scent that was simply … sweet. The scent that reached warm, right inside her and locked itself in place to remind her forever of that day when she was young and happy, and the scent of chocolate surrounded her, on her hands, in her hair, on her mother's shoulder when she hugged her, and in the warm, sweet air of the shop that would be hers one day.

But dreams don't always come true. Charlise hadn't learned that when she was still little and loved. She didn't realise her dreams weren't going to come true until she was eleven. Just eleven years old. Just four thousand and ninety-seven days old. That was all.

She stood in her cold, dark, empty house alone, where her mother and father had both died, with the key to her mother's sweet shop in her hands. The shop that should have been hers. The shop full of the dreams of a future that would never occur, now. She would leave this place, and she didn't know if she'd ever return. She didn't know if she'd live long enough.

She stared down at the ornate brass key in her hands; rusty, from the years between today and her mother's untimely death. She stared, but she couldn't conjure the images of the shop where she had been so happy in this dusty, dull house. So, instead, she closed her eyes and remembered the scent. She revelled in it for a moment, and when she opened her eyes, and wiped the fresh tears away, she placed the key into the cabinet in front of her and shut the drawer.

And tried to ignore the picture in the frame, of the woman who had given her life, who had nurtured her, tried to protect her. Her mother. The only person who had ever known her.

She tried, but she couldn't, and all too strongly, her eyes were drawn to the sweet smiling woman who laughed from her glass prison. She stepped forwards to stroke the frame, knowing her mother's eyes were blind and her ears were deaf and she was too far away to make any difference to her lonely, broken daughter now …

… but she still offered her a prayer. And with the full force of her heart, wished she could hear her voice one more time. She had loved her more than anything.

And then she turned on her heel, and strode from the house into her new, uncertain future, still unsure whether or not she would ever return to this place, this city, this country. But with her, she carried a talisman. A memory. A comforting, safe scent, of her mother and the life she had always aspired to: chocolate.

oOo

And when Mello walked past her that day, the day Near's force had scattered itself across London and wider England, it was the first time he got close enough for her to smell the chocolate scent rising from his skin. She wouldn't – couldn't – think of him in the same way, ever again.

oOo

Near had always prided himself on his ability to look at things from an analytical point of view. Things didn't faze him. Even when his head should be pounding from exertion, and he should have a headache to beat the pain of _childbirth_, he was still calm. Collected. Detached.

He had plenty of room in his mind to take in the sight of the girl leaning casually against the door of the silver S-type Jaguar, looking bored.

'Con, I presume,' he addressed her.

She whipped around to stare at him through the green tinted lenses of her aviator shades, giving him a glimpse of his own pale reflection, before raising a hand (the nails painted in an unnatural maroon colour) to pull the glasses down, and as she did so, a slow smile spread over her lips. She was wearing an aviator hat too, the kind with flaps over either ear and with snowy white fur inside, and below that blew out a cloud of hair, dark glossy brown.

Near supposed by normal reckoning, she was a pretty girl. She had always been a pretty girl, really, with the ready smile and definite features. Not that he cared.

'Hey, Near,' she said, chirpily, and slid away from the car, before tapping around in her brown boots to open the door to the back seat. She was taller than him, but not by much.

'I would prefer to sit in the front,' Near told the girl, who raised her eyebrows, but obediently shut the door and opened the other. Near clambered in and the door closed firmly. He watched, drawing a thumb into his mouth as the girl sashay around the front of the car to climb in next to him, and slam the door forcefully.

'Alright,' she said, decisively, both hands on the steering wheel, turning to Near.

'Where to, boss?'

And then he realised the accent she had was very lyrical and gentle. Scottish, he realised with a start. Scottish. He'd never noticed before. Had that always been there, or was it a recent thing? He should have noticed. He hadn't paid much attention to her; she was too boisterous and didn't care for the indoors. He knew her name; that was about it.

'Wammy's House. As quickly as possibly.'

'Alright, kiddo. I'll get you there in _style_.'

And with that, she deftly twisted the keys in the ignition and started the car in one skilled sweep. A second later they were gunning it down the main road, the girl humming loudly as she turned corners.

Near drew his knee up to his chest, over the seatbelt, his thumb now firmly encased by his mouth. He was about to reprimand her for daring to call him 'kiddo' when she turned to him, speaking louder than necessary for this small space.

'Hey, okay if I turn the radio on?'

Near opened his mouth to deny this request (with more than a hint of malicious intent), but the girl had already turned the dial and was thanking him.

'Oh! I _love _this song! Don't you? _Sing it with me, Near!_ Oh, hell, prissy queen … iron bars, iron heart …'

She stopped suddenly, and stared over at him for a disconcerting amount of time, given that she was in control of the car.

'Good to see you Near. I was sort of freaked out when you disappeared. Third time lucky, and all that. I was sure I was next.'

She winked, and sang louder.

Near shrank down in his seat. It was going to be a long trip.

oOo

Sigh.

Another access code. Jesus, this system would be fun to design. Ugh. Matt hated it; it was so blocky and inelegant. He'd thought Near would have more style.

But then again, Near had probably just paid someone a shit load of money to encode this piece of crap. Matt snorted. A shit-load of money while he was _starving on the streets_. You think you know a guy. After … God knows how many years, but a whole childhood and most of adolescence in the company of a guy, and when you fall on hard time, he won't even pay _you _to encode him a decent file-access system. No, no. He just goes and pays some random stranger who won't do _half _as good a job –

'Matt, are you talking to _me_, or yourself?'

Matt's hand jerked, as he raised his head to see Charlise looking cautiously in his direction. Austin quickly raised his head to do the same.

'Um …'

'On second thoughts, forget I said anything. Vas y.'

Matt turned back to the screen thankfully, trying to submerge himself in the lines of text. _Vas y …_sounded familiar. he returned to deciphering the code, never meant for human eyes. It was sort of a good thing that Matt had never really considered himself human. _Spawn of Satan, _Mello had said once. But then again, that was a little cool for Matt. Matt wasn't that cool, in his own humble opinion.

_Ah! That was it._

'Go ahead, right?' he asked, at last.

Charlise blinked, looking confused before the features reassembled themselves into a bashful smile.

'Oui. Sorry, I tend to just … fall into French.'

'Yah, I've noticed.'

He looked up from the screen again to see a blush working its way across the pale cheeks, and he averted her eyes, before he realised why.

'Oh, don't worry about it. It's cute,' he shrugged nonchalantly. She hid a smile in return.

'Merci, Matthew.'

Mello glanced up from the opposite desk.

'Matt. Focus.'

'Focusing.'

Mello slid his headset back on, irritated, as Charlise did the same, and began pacing. Mello had noticed that she did that whenever she was talking over the headset. So far he had seen her do this in three languages; English, French and Italian.

'Paprika, for future reference, how did you break into this system?'

'I stole Gevanni's passwords and codes …set up a camera feed overhead.'

Charlise nodded, impressed. Paprika had worked her way into and up the ranks steadily. Another while and she would be approved to admittance to the most closed files. It was all going according to plan.

'Matt, how's it going?'

'Uh … badly? This thing is a minefield. Everything is cross-referenced and double locked. It's just a mess.'

'Okay. Please, do keep trying. Paprika, anything interesting over there?'

Charlise frowned as she waited for the reply. While Matt was hacking the system, Paprika was doubling up checking files and reports.

'… I … there's all this stuff about the Japanese Task Force. Like, I _know _we're in liaison with them, but it's too much for just that. And there are too many locked files, I mean – this is Rester's own computer. What's he trying to hide? Does he suspect _me_ or something?'

Paprika sighed into the microphone.

'There's far, far too much stuff here for them to be innocent. Something is going on. I know I said it before, but seriously, Charlie, something fishy is really going on, here. This isn't normal. There's some big secret here, and Near's keeping it from me.'

Charlise paced past Mello, who had turned his chair outwards from the computer. She looked at him for a moment, before resuming her shuffle. It was uncomfortable to watch; the young woman limping along back and forth, leaning on the bright cane, lost in thought. She shouldn't be like that. Mello hated that everyone he was involved with could be described, at best, as 'motley'.

'The Japanese Task Force … I understand. I have overlooked them.'

'You've been a little busy, kid. You're a scientist, not a bounty-hunter.'

Charlise smiled slightly.

'Thanks, Paprika. I think things will start looking up from here,' Charlise said, glancing at Mello who stared straight back at her. She couldn't read the thought behind the bright eyes.

'What is your opinion, Paprika?'

'Investigate the Task Force yourself. But infiltration may be necessary.'

'It might. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.'

'Okay, Charlie.'

'Charlie, I'm getting into the Task Force files right now.' Matt dodged from behind a screen to address her.

'Okay, copy as many as possible –'

'Uh, Charlie? Situation here … Gevanni just entered the building … what do I do? I'm on his computer, I just managed to swipe his passwords … I can't shut it down in time!' The girl's voice rose in panic. The atmosphere in Control Central changed, Matt glanced up and was suddenly bent almost double over the computer, typing furiously. Austin linked with Cheshire and updated her in a few words quietly. Mello stared at Charlie who stopped pacing, quiet for a moment, before she turned to Mello in what he would later realise was a gesture of faith, blue eyes (blue, now) free of deception.

'Mello, any plan?'

'Shut the computer down, and distract him … how long will it take for them to close down completely?'

'Six minutes, at least!'

'Mello, over here!' Matt suddenly yelled, lurching in his seat to stab at the keyboard. Mello yanked himself from the chair and sprinted over to the red-head's shoulder.

'What, what?'

'It's just like before, when it shut down … but it's not shutting now; I've infiltrated from within the system, so it thinks I'm getting in legally!' Matt tripped over his words, hitting keys so fast, Mello didn't see any pattern at all. Mello watched him closely; this could be the Holy Grail he and Matt had been searching for all of these months.

All of those months, living in _dives_, surviving, getting by but by no means legally. Him ever vigilant, Matt hunched over a laptop for hours and days and nights, trying to find something, anything to help.

And then the one time he got in, only to have it shut down around him, erasing all data from his lap-top, erasing it from the hard drive connected to the laptop. Everything. Months of work.

Gone.

And they had started from scratch, disheartened, assured that they'd die trying to live. But Mello's decision had been made long ago, and Matt's was now too. There had only really been one, even from the start.

Seeing the frenzy in his friend's eyes, feeling the adrenaline pump through his veins, in a sick way, Mello realised he had missed this. The rush of the hunt; it was the only exhilaration he had ever known. The only joy was in winning. That was all. Ever. Things were (maybe) getting back on track, thanks to these drop-out geniuses.

'Are you _sure, _Matt?' Charlise looked harried.

'Look, Charlie, there is one thing I'm good at and it's this! This is important! If you want this case to go anywhere, I _need to get this._'

'Okay, okay! Uh … Paprika-'

'Quick! He's getting closer, I'm watching the surveillance!'

Her voice was high with panic. Mello growled and dragged the microphone close to his mouth.

'So _distract him_. Surely you are familiar with the concept! We need _time_, so instead of screaming and fainting, why don't you do something _useful_!'

Paprika growled, and spared one last sentiment before ripping off her microphone and stuffing it away.

'That guy's a _jerk_, Charlie!'

Charlise probably would have laughed, if the situation wasn't so serious. Paprika's mike cut off; but her earpiece was still in. She could hear them, but they were blind to what might be happening to her. Matt threw himself into the project full force, and all waited, breathless until Matt finally said, 'Done!'

'_Terminate, Paprika!_' Charlie barked, 'and _stall_!'

For eight tense minutes, they waited. And finally, Paprika was able to whisper, 'Mission accomplished,' into her mike, hidden in her handbag.

'Same here, Paprika. Same here. Well done. Oh, and the text message … yeah, I have to agree.'

Charlie smiled conspiratorially. 'Charlise out.'

Matt exhaled loudly, and slumped over his keyboard, moaning into the keys.

'Uuugh.'

Mello reached out to pat his shoulder roughly, and spread himself in the chair next to the gamer. Charlise limped around to them.

'Oh, poor Matt. I'm sorry. But well done, what did you get?' She sounded so eager. Mello watched the life dance in her eyes as she turned too quickly, and stumbled into his chair. He steadied her automatically, and she stepped away quickly, stiff and tense and muttering apologies. Kind of weird, but he was getting used to forty shades of crazy in this place. She limped around to Matt's shoulder, as he scratched his head, pulling his pony-tail through his fingers in an almost regretful manner.

'Sorry, Charlie. It could take a while to crack this.'

'That's fine, Matt. Take as long as you want. There's no rush.'

She smiled hesitantly at him; that same devastatingly sweet smile that must have stolen hearts before today.

'Vas y, Matthew.'

He blinked, before an answering grin spread across the face, pale from all of those years stuck behind a monitor.

'Merci,' he said carefully, and she laughed, reaching forward to tug the messy tail of hair playfully, the youngest Mello had yet seen her; and still old. Maternal.

'We'll make a Frenchman of you yet,' she smiled, and Matt chuckled in return. _And then Mello realised what was wrong; it was the way he was watching this innocent exchange._

Enviously_._

xXx

* * *

_And I'm talking to myself at night  
Because I can't forget  
Back and forth through my mind  
Behind a cigarette  
And the message coming from my eyes  
Says leave it alone!  
- Seven Nation Army, The White Stripes_

* * *

**A/N: Ha! I love the hints! LOVE LOVE LOVE IT! **

**... by the way, in your eyes, what nationality is Mello?**

**-Wraithlike xxx  
**


	10. Phase 10: Decisions

**BWAAAHAHA!! TEN CHAPTERS! TEN CHAPTERS! TEN C H A P T E R S!!! YEAH, BABY, YEAH!! ;0)**

**And so many review! I'm touched, guys! -tear- No, really, I am. I love you all. Thanks for stickin' around and I hope you enjoy the meat of the story that is to come!**

**Pairings: **Ash and Misty. COME ON, they were meant to be together. Brock was a freaking pervert. ;) He he he he ... But yeah ... keep guessing ...

**Songs**: Wayfaring Stranger, for Near and Con and all of the other orphans, but the main one is True Colours, the Cindy Lauper version. It's EPIC. Seriously, I realise that Con and Charlie share a theme song - and this is it. ;) You can access them all via my homepage, fols.

**Shout out to: **My amazing reviewers. My friends ... I don't know what to say.

To **JaxX **, I'll get my squeeing out of the way first. AGGHH!! NEW BLOOD, NEW BLOOD, YAAAAAAAY!! He he he, thanks for visiting, Jax! I'm so glad you like the chappie. ;) Russian, eh? You know what, that's what my mammy said when I asked for her opinion ... To my dear **Pisces**, ah, yes, German and Russian! I think everyone's kind of going Eastern Europe, yeah. But I KNOW!! It's SO CRAZY! But me and Paula are the only sane ones. Ha ha ... ha ... (PAULA, IF YOU'RE READING THIS, QUICKLY, HIDE THE NITROGEN BOMBS!!!!) Yes. We are very normal, sane people. Ha ... ;) But you probably do have dementia. A penname like that? OBVIOUSLY CRAZY. ;) He he, I'm glad Charlie's getting some love. I know. Poor thing. I'm so mean. :) To **Hidden in Sunlight** (awesome name, by the way) Ooooh! SCANDINAVIA!! I like that one a _lot_. Nice one. ;) And hi! Thanks for the review!! To **Oh, God, it's Paula **... I mean, **Shivery Fecking Sox the Fecker**, ;) - why does that smiley look sleazier than everyone elses? WHY?? Anyway, DEADLY BUZZ!! I love it, you knacker. But, yeah, Matt's epic. So epic, in fact ... I can't even think of a good simile. When I say he's epic like e-coli on room temperature English meat, you'll know what I mean. :) And you love her!! YAY!! Well, she _is _lighter than Dixon .. and she doesn't kick so hard either! ;) God, that sounds so STALKER!! CHRIST!! ;) Is that why you took so FECKING LONG to answer the door? You left me FREEZING OUTSIDE? Oh, you ... fecker!! ;) Its okay. It was worth it. Anyway. Hope you enjoy reading this instead of working. SLACKER! Anyway. Thanks for not being bored yet, fol! I LOVE YOU!! To **Con, the Epic**, heeeeey!! HOPE YOU LIKE THE FINAL PART OF YOUR CAMEO! You have to admit, it's great value winning a cameo from me. You certainly get a good chunk in it! Ha, anyway, I'm glad you liked the chapter! And the Con-fit. Glad you liked that too. I loved it myself. I was like, 'damn ... _want _this ...' God, yeah, me and Paula-fol make a great stoned duo, don't we? Oh, she should be here ... **HEY, PAULA! OVER HERE! **Well, now she's reading this too. He he. Yeah, really though, I must have scared people. Sort of an 'I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!!' moment ... but it WORKED, didn't it? There you go, kids. Violence is always the answer. OH MY GOD, NEARxCON! I have a terribly excellent idea .... HA HA!! You asked for it, Con ... you asked for it ... ;) But I'd hug him and Mello. Really hard. And refuse to ever, ever let go. And Matt'd be all like, 'Okay, crazy little brunette girl, I have to go to work now,' and I'd be like, 'TAKE ME WITH YOU!!' and then he'd have to. THANKS FOR NOTICING MY SOUNDTRACK!! THANKS SO MUCH!! I LOVE YOU, CON!!! To my lovely and amazing **Rat, **my God, thank the good Lord the withdrawals stopped. ;) As for why he was eating mayo from the jar? Well, I think of Paula when I'm writing Matt. And I've seen her lick garlic butter off of knives, despite me screaming at her to stop. If she liked mayonnaise, I don't doubt she'd eat it from the jar. ;) Also, he's Matt. He's bat-shit crazy. SLOVENIAN?? SERIOUSLY?? WOW!! COOL!! Thanks for that Rat! And you're SUCH A SWEETIE!! I'm glad you made it back. ;) To **Cheta Cheese, **hey, nice to meet you! Russian too? Well, there you go! Ha, your friend sounds like me. ;) We don't obsess, we just think intensely. ;) He he, thanks for reviewing. To **smearedliner **HI!! -waves madly back- I know! Poor Near. Ah, well, he can suck it up for once. ;) Another Russian believer? AWESOME. ;) And finally to the one, the only **Seriously not Lexy ... **;) I love you too. ;) I don't know WHAT happened to Chess there! Don't worry, I'll bring her back soon for you, fangirl! I ADORE THAT MOVIE AND THAT BOOK BUT MOSTLY THAT MOVIE BECAUSE I FREAKING LOVE JOHNNY DEPP. ;) Russian and English, nice! I like it! A lot of Russian votes ... GASP!! GASP!! JEALOUSY!! ENVY!! GASP!! SUSPENSE!! GASP!! ... he he he he he ... OH MY GOD! TELL YOUR MOM SHE'S A LEJ-BAG. She actually is her. Blessings upon your home. ;P I'm such a nerd. He he he ... AND I'LL REPLY TO YOU SOON! I'm working in a theatre this week and it's UBER busy but never fear, I shall return soon! LAAAAV YOOOOU!!

**OH MY GOD, THE LENGTH OF THAT. CHRIST ON A BIKE. THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEW, GUYS! AND KEEP 'EM COMIN'!**

OH! And I have a present in celebration of ten chapters. But it won't be ready until chapter eleven. A present from the cast themselves ... he he he ...

**

* * *

**-

Phase 10: **Decisions**

-

_You with the sad eyes ... don't be discouraged.  
_

-

Con cut the ignition dramatically and the two sat in silence for a moment.

'So. Welcome home, I suppose,' the girl mused, staring out of the windscreen dazedly. Wammy's house rose before them, as dominating and cold as it always appeared, belying the nurturing atmosphere within. It might be sad, but this place _had_ always been 'home' to Near. It always would be, if 'home' was classified as 'a place where a person or animal can find refuge and safety or live in security' or 'the place where somebody was born or raised or feels that he or she belongs'.

This was where he had belonged. With all of the other misfits.

Con snorted and pushed her door open, slamming it roughly behind her before opening Near's own door. He climbed out, awkward in the shoes Rester had forced him to put on. Con hesitated beside the car for a moment, before appearing to make up her mind.

'Hey, uh, Near? Is it okay if I go in with you?'

'Certainly.'

'Thanks.'

She stomped to the door, pressing the bell. And then, the two waited for the familiar voice over the buzzer.

'Hello?'

'Hello, Roger,' Near said, toneless as ever, 'it appears you have visitors.'

_Just like Mello would say, _Near thought, wryly. Well, as wryly as he could. He wasn't Mello, after all.

oOo

A boy with bleached hair gelled into tousled spikes, and snake-bite piercings in his lower lip stalked out of Roger's office, slamming the door behind him. He glowered at Near and Con with derision through unsuitable brown eyes; the kind that looked as if they should always be upturned in a smile.

He stalked past them, head held high, and Near was reminded strongly of Mello. For at least the third time today.

It was only the arrogance in the boy. And the coolly condescending look in his eyes. Mello was in a league of his own, and that was that.

The boy swept down the corridor and turned the corner, disappearing from view, and Near turned in time to see Con widening her eyes, and letting out a low whistle.

'Wow. This place hasn't changed a lot,' she remarked.

'Indeed,' Near mused. 'In fact, I was just thinking the same thing.'

Con shrugged and moved closer to the door.

'I'll, uh …' she muttered, turning the handle and opening the door, before stepping back to let Near enter first. He did so, twirling a lock of white hair around his finger.

Roger watched the child enter the office, as pale and disinterested as he had ever been in the years he had lived in this house. No hint of real life in the pale eyes; no lustre in the straw-textured white hair. No animation in the snowy face.

Years of watching the genius orphans come and go and grow and learn and leave and die should have desensitized him to the sadness of their situations, but every single time he saw one return, he was struck with the hopelessness again. Especially seeing this one. Near. No matter how hard they tried, the children still grew up broken. Broken by the years they had suffered before arriving; broken by the years within and the learning and schedules and tests … broken by not having one single person love them like they needed.

Even this one. Ranked First. L's successor; he'd won. He's done what all of the children aspired to do. And it still hadn't fixed him. Broken; beyond all repair. It killed him slowly, day by day, year by year. A slow torture; one he suffered steadily. Someone had to.

'Near …' he breathed, quietly. The boy kept his gaze and slouched forward to fold himself into a chair like he had done in school. One knee at his chest, the other dangling to the floor, one hand twirling the white hank of hair, the other, enveloped in it's oversized cuff at his lip. And no shoes. Of course.

'Hello, Roger,' he said, and (maybe he was just jumping on the hope) but he thought he heard a hint of warmth in his voice. Maybe it was being in this place. He _had _to have at least one fond memory of this place. Didn't he?

'How are you, Near?' he ventured, thoughtlessly. When dealing with geniuses, he tried not to remember their IQ level, and treat them like any other child. And Near would never answer rudely. His reply – 'I am physically well, Roger, not currently suffering from any illness.' – would differ greatly to many of the replies he would have received from others.

'However, I require lease to search Wammy's for explosives.'

… _and yes, from then on, things went as Near presumed they would. Roger: gasp, question, aquiest. _

And then, he padded away (as he had, so many times in the past) to unfold yet another mystery Mello had left him. And somehow, it was still a game. Even after all of these years. And if Near was honest (as he always was, untouched by bias, prejudice or that hamper: emotion) he would admit that yes, he was glad Mello was still alive, and still playing the same old game. And even when he found the bomb, live, but placed far away from where it could kill anyone when it exploded, he was impressed that even he had had to think for a while before realising where it was (inside a piano … _the_ piano, in fact, that Mello had once smashed Near's head into until someone came to drag him away). He was impressed; because he knew that this wasn't the game; Mello would never make it so easy for him. This was the prelude to the real game, the real chase, the real hunt. He was glad it was coming. He had missed the game.

It made things … _interesting_, somehow.

oOo

By the time Con managed to creep into the office where Roger was correcting tests, Near had been gone about ten minutes, and Roger wasn't aware that anyone else had been lurking outside trying to pluck up the courage to reclaim a past life.

When she did come in, she didn't say anything for a second, and he didn't even realise anyone had entered. She rocked awkwardly on her heel for a minute before clearing her throat abruptly. Roger's head darted up, and he frowned at the girl.

'Yes?' he queried. The girl gave a pale imitation of a smile, as she stumbled towards the desk and opened her mouth to speak, before thinking the better of it and pulling off her shades. A pair of unfamiliar tangerine eyes shone cat-like from the face. Roger blinked in surprise, as the features assembled themselves in his memory into the younger face of a child he had known well.

'Hey, Roger,' she grinned at him, with that whisper of doubt just hinted at the corners of her mouth.

'Hello, Con,' he said in surprise, and the doubt erased itself.

'Oh, good, you remember me. Well, that's a relief, certainly,' she said, leaning on the back of the chair where Near had sat, kicking her heel off the ground.

'Wh- what happened to your –'

'My eyes? Eh. Experimental surgery. I think it looks kind of cool,' she mused, turning to admire them in the mirror to her right. She turned back to wink at Roger.

'Really, Roger. Who else would, but me?'

Roger laid down the sheets he had been holding and leaned over his desk.

'I'll admit, it's a surprise to see you, Con,' he said, running his eyes over the face that had been so carefree. She shrugged, and avoided his gaze.

'Not that surprising. We all fetch back here at some point, right? I was due for a visit,' she smiled, glancing up and back down.

'I – I'm here to … ask a favour,' she blurted out, and Roger felt wariness rise in himself. The same sad story, he supposed. Another genius gone to the bad, come here, home, to beg for money to feed their habit –

'I want my files.'

_Oh._

'Your – your files?'

The girl nodded, sliding to sit on the arm of the chair, watching the older man with the unnatural eyes, still beseeching and full of desperate youth. They watched him, as focused as any cat as he started the old familiar spiel.

'But – Con, why would you want them? They're no good to you; your future was provided for here, but you left it behind. If you want a career, we can sort it out for you; but really, the content of these files –'

'You're wrong, Roger,' she cut him off, gracefully, and watched him with the sad eyes.

'You've never had to worry about things like I have. You've always known your own name, your family, your background. You've never survived on a whim of someone's imagination … Con,' she snorted, disgusted.

'Just someone's stray thought. And I've made it who I am. I'm tired of that, Roger. I'm tired of having no idea who I am; tired of fabricating a life around myself. I want the world to happen around me. You'll never know what it feels like; to have to claw your way into the world and cling on in case it falls away. I don't exist, really. My life has been just a series of falsehoods, and I'm _tired _of that. I want the lies to just – stop. So I'm making a new life. Without lies. And it's going to start with my real name, and go on from there. I –'

She cut off for a moment, examining the maroon nails on her right hand.

'I can't ever make you understand the allure,' she said, looking up and speaking softly, 'of knowing the simple truth of your own name.'

_You never can, _he thought, pulling open a shelf in a filing cabinet, and rifling through the sheaves of paper until he pulled out the one marked deliberately with her name and pushing it into her hands.

'Thank you,' she said, quietly, as she left the office. Roger never saw her again, but he knew, to the day he died, that she had created a better life for herself with the protection of the name her parents had given her.

oOo

_Ping_.

An unrealistically comforting sound to the wearied ears and mind of the diminutive French girl, wrapped safe in the metallic embrace of the elevator.

It was so peaceful in there, and sadly enough, that wasn't the first time she'd thought that. Sometimes (on days like this, particularly, when all she wanted was for the world to leave her alone) she just wanted to lock the doors of the elevator, curl up on the little seat and ride the elevator up and down through the building until they physically cut the door open. She would relish it, too.

Charlise leaned against the wall and closed her tired eyes. Things had certainly sped up since Matt and Mello had joined the ranks, but really, she was starting to wonder if this was such a good thing. Undoubtedly, the team was being kept on their toes, but Charlie wasn't, as Paprika had pointed out, a bounty hunter. She was just a kid studying science. And her balance had never been that good, so while everyone else was on their toes, it felt like she was being pulled through open, empty space.

She cast another longing look around the elevator. _God, I love this place …_

The doors opened, and Level 3, the Common Area spilled into view. Time for a quick mug of something warming and maybe, finally, she could go to sleep.

'Hey, kid!' Crash chirped as Charlie stumbled into the room, and immediately she knew that she was kissing her peaceful evening goodbye. But she still pulled her tolerant face on and smiled as winsomely as she knew how. She loved Crash; and sometimes she thought he was like a brother to her. Sometimes she thought he might love her more than her _own _brother. And when the thought started to make her feel sick, she'd open a window and start singing something from Oklahoma! to calm herself down.

But still. Crash didn't really do 'down-time' that well. He was too jazzy and lively a person; and there was no better relaxation for him than to have a good natter about anything and everything under the sun.

'Good evening, Charlie,' Cheshire said, quietly, and Charlie spied the slight Japanese girl sipping daintily from a snow-white china tea-cup.

_Even better, _Charlie thought sourly, resolutely smiling wider and diving towards the kitchen as quickly as her leg would allow. Cheshire was too quick. She saw logic and pattern everywhere, and sure as hell if you made one slip in her presence, she'd remember it forever. Charlie had made plenty of slips around her, and something malicious inside her warned her that Cheshire was compiling all of these slips, and that one day, she'd release them all at once to her detriment.

Maybe that was just the late hour talking, though. Charlie hoped as much.

The kettle boiled gently on the stove, and Charlie decided to watch it boil, and avoid the others. She tried to plan her next letter to Dixon in her head as she did so, but nothing suitable popped into her head. The world suddenly seemed very grey; and Charlie suddenly felt very old, and very weary. Which was not right; she shouldn't even have reached the prime of her life, yet … but somehow, she never would. Too many issues, too much cynicism and too much responsibility had seen to that.

The kettle whistled. Charlie pulled it off the heat, and, gritting her teeth, poured a mug of it over the herbal tea-bag in her cup. The heady fragrance of jasmine filled the air around her head, the steamy moisture clinging to the bright strands of her hair. She stood for a moment, inhaling almost gleefully, before stealing herself to bring her mug into the common room and face the questions of Cheshire and Crash.

She knew there'd be plenty, but she just couldn't coax herself into building up enthusiasm to answer them. They said a problem shared was a problem halved, but whoever had made that up had obviously never had a real problem in their _life_.

When she sat down, the ensuing conversation was painfully trivial, but when the questions came (as she had known they would) they were hard-hitting and tough to answer.

'Look, Charlie … this Mello guy. I know – we _all _know – you're incredible, and everything. The things you come up with and just know … they're brilliant. So when you come to us going, 'We need to recruit this guy', everyone automatically goes, 'Certainly, Charlie. Where should we start?' We don't doubt you. Hell, we don't even doubt you _now_. But this Mello guy … he's the most dubious thing to ever happen to us. And we took Paris in! We're used to the unsavoury.'

Crash paused, blinking his wide, guileless eyes at her, taking a sip of coffee, despite the late hour. Then he frowned.

'I – Charlie. I'll be honest.'

He set the mug down and leaned forward, his eyes tight on her face.

'I don't know much about you. Oh, sure, I know lots, like how you like your tea, and your favourite song, and what you do when you're stressed and all of that kind of stuff. But … three years. That's all, really. And as for the rest of your life – I have no idea. Don't get me wrong, I don't _want _you to have to tell me, but – now I'm thinking it might have been a lot different than I presumed. A lot … tougher.'

Charlie stared back, steadily.

'You trust this guy, obviously. Please, Charlie … we just want to understand.'

Charlise sighed, and her head clunked into her hands clumsily.

'Look,' she said, through her fingers, 'Since you started it – well, I'll be honest too … I'm _never _honest. And I lie so much to so many people that there really isn't that much I can tell you. That's the sad part, and the part that worries me, too. Things are changing all around us, quickly; too quickly, and in the very centre of everything is this weird secret, that I'm _trying _undercover. It's not working, but I'll keep trying. It's the key. And Mello … he …'

She raised her head, a sad, sleepy smile on the unreasonably young face.

'He's the key to the key. If that ever makes sense.'

She stood up and swilled the contents of her teacup around pensively.

'And if it doesn't,' she said, setting it carefully, and straightening to her full and still small height, 'then I'll try my best to make you understand. Because I'll be honest, again, for once … I need help.'

oOo

_And meanwhile, three thousand five hundred miles away, across an ocean, a man at a check-in desk glanced up at the girl in front of him. She was almost quivering with excitement, as she passed him the passport._

'Fabienne Zubriggen?'

_She didn't seem to care that he'd obviously just mangled her name horribly. She just grinned through really weird amber eyes, showing the incisors with the tips filed to points for some unknown reason and nodded gleefully._

'Yes,' _she said, _'That's me.'

_And she pulled the passport into her pocket, picked up the rucksack (her only luggage) and headed in the direction of her flight to Switzerland._

_And when Con passed the gate, she ceased to exist_. Her bank account froze; her apartment was found abandoned. She was chalked down as another missing person. Wammy's got a notification of her absence, and seven years later, it was issued with the death cert of one 'Con Distentia.'

_And she never set foot in England again._

But in Switzerland, if seven years later anyone had looked, they would have found one 'Fabienne' blossoming; real, unique and ready for whatever life would throw at her.

And for once, happy just to be alive and to say to anyone who asked, 'Yes. Fabienne is my name.'

_It's a pleasure to meet you._

xXx

* * *

_But I see your true colours  
Shining through ...  
I see your true colours  
That's why I love you  
So, don't be afraid to let them show  
Your true colours are beautiful,  
Like a rainbow ...  
- True Colours, Cindy Lauper

* * *

_**A/N: ... and I always liked to think of Mello as Italian. Ha. ;) Well, here's another one for ye ... What are Mello and Matt's favourite subjects?**

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	11. Phase 11: Truth

**Hmm. It appears I have a (don't read, tender children!) SHITload of explaining to do. Um ... let me summarise.**

**1. Sickness.  
**

**2. Work Experience of two incredibly tiring weeks.**

**3. REHEARSALS, of which me life have consisted of for FAR TOO LONG.**

**4. Fourth Year.**

**5. LAMDA.**

**6. PLAY!! It was ... amazing.**

**7. Eirtakon! EPICNESS 101!!  
**

**8. ... best part of all ... uh ... my, uh ... boyf! ;) He he he, I'm so ridiculously excited. Awwww, you'd love him. He played Romeo in our play, glayly enough, and I had to step in for Juliet for a day, and well, you know how it goes ...  
**

**BUt I apologise profusely, my darling, beautiful readers, from the bottom of my lowly pathetic heart. I grovel 'pon my knees for your fprgiveness and beatitude. I don't deserve you. But I pray you accept my offering to the alter of fan fiction, and my assurance that thing's'll be better from here.**

**I'M SORRY. FORGIVE ME. I LOVE YOU ALL. **

**Pairings: **Eh ... nothin' really in this chappie ...well, actually that's a total lie. What do YOU see? ;)

**Songs: **Everybody's Fool, Evanescence for good old Charlie ... it's HER SONG, and Hang Onto Your IQ, by Placebo. ;)

**Shout out to: **Since I want to get this right out there, like, NOW, I'm going to be horribly impersonal and say EVERYONE, thank you so incredibly much, and I'm so sorry. Thanks for the reviews; **Rat, Pisces, smearedliner, Paula-fol, Con FTW, Nima Loves You, Lexy-love, and Gwenny Dear.**

**THANKS FOLKS SO MUCH!! I promise next chappie I'll be more personal, but until then, I give you CHAPTAAAAAAAH!! AT LAST!!!!!!

* * *

**

-

Phase 11: **Truth**

-

_Defend me, friends … I am but hurt …_

_-  
_

'You know, Mello. I think this is great,' Matt said, unexpectedly, from his position sprawled over Mello's bed. Mello peered up from the spot on the table he was staring at, and slipped an earphone off.

'What's great? What are you talking about? And get _off _my bed.'

Matt merely chuckled, and turned over, propping himself up on his elbow in a way that reminded Mello distinctly of the girls that had frequented whatever mafia base he had been in. The ones with the skirts that generously could be said to skim the thigh. The ones who had tried many, many times to part Mello and his cash and innocence. And if they had succeeded, Mello had never told Matt.

'This,' Matt said, gesturing vaguely around himself, and grinning.

'Getting to bond like this.'

He winked, pillowing his head on his folded hands, and settling onto his back. Mello stared in disbelief.

'My God, Matt, what cocktail of drugs did they feed you when I left?'

'Prozac will do that to you,' Matt said, tapping his nose knowledgably. Mello paused for a moment, sounding out the comment.

A dig? An admission? A joke? God, he _hated _this! Why wasn't anything _simple _anymore? The one person he had thought he could rely on to stay the same had gone and changed completely.

'Hmm,' he huffed, noncommittally, feeling like an idiot. Matt waited a moment before speaking again.

'So, uh … getting anything good?'

'Sort of … at the moment, there's a big dramatic pause, and she's giving a wind-up …'

'To what?'

Mello turned to Matt and smiled. The smile that Matt always described as 'sick'.

'To us, naturally. Who else is possibly as interesting as we are in this place?'

A smile twisted the corner of Matt's mouth.

'That's depressing.'

'Yeah, well … be prepared. The dirty laundry is being aired,' Mello said, as if he relished this, and leaned back.

'This is going to be one hell of story.'

oOo

'You're going to think I'm crazy. You're going to realise that you don't know me at all,' Charlise warned the crowd of genii, sleept-eyed and disgruntled at having been roused from sleep. But the time had come.

Charlise had tried to avoid it for so long, but here she was; almost eighteen years old. And only now did she fully understand that the lies had to stop.

Cheshire settled back in her chair, and sighed.

'Do hurry up, Charlie. It's late, we're tired, and none of us are going to rest until you're finished.'

Charlise faltered, looking around at the faces. Crash, worried, nursing his coffee. Cheshire, betraying no hint of fatigue despite the late hour and the long trip she had endured. Twix, looking half-asleep and very vulnerable in her dressing gown. Nervous Austin, looking at her perceptively, through his grey eyes. And last of all, weary, weary Paris, staring at her beneath the dark shadows of tiredness, and the silky hanks of hair hanging over his face in an attempt to hide them. He looked so haunted and alone, that Charlie felt guilty for what she was about to ask of him.

'R-right,' she agreed, continuing pacing, her face turned towards the ceiling. A knot of anxiety clenched in her stomach with a growl of irritation, before she pushed them aside, and started talking.

'Mello is ranked Second. Second, as Near is first.'

It felt wrong saying the words when she didn't agree and wasn't sure they were true. But that was the conception, and as such, she'd stick with it.

'Second to success L, of course. Matt … third, maybe fourth. I was never sure …'

She frowned in thought, before continuing.

'When … when L died, I was still a child. So was he; so was Matt. I … I was young; I had other things to worry about. I didn't realise the severity of the situation for a few years. By the time I did – things had moved on.'

This wasn't coming out right. It was a hard thing to say. And for that reason, she closed her eyes, and tried to see it in her head, and see it that way.

'When my father died, there was only me.'

Me and Dixon. …

_The auburn haired boy with the big scared eyes and the trembling lips. There was nothing to say to calm him, but,_** don't** **worry, Dominique. I'll always protect you**_._

We were … alone. But luckily, there was one person who came to take responsibility for us.

_Keiji Takayama wasn't a young man by any stretch of the imagination. But his dark eyes were kind, and had the right kind of wrinkles. The ones that creased around the gentle eyes, and he looked every inch the grandfather Charlise had wanted to know. Wrinkles were important, after all. _

He guided us, cared for us, and when I told him that I had a task to do, he facilitated me to the best of his ability.

_Even though, as soon as he realised that she was a genius, every vestige of childhood had whispered away overnight. It was the price she had to pay. _

I had a task to do. And I was sure, I couldn't do it alone.

_Childish tears trickling down freckled cheeks, only one thought in her head: __**I can't live like this**__. The day she realised she needed help. _

So. I packed up my life, my heart, and found Wammy's. And there, I deposited Dixon, the only place he'd be safe, and began my task in earnest.

_He was still so young. So was she, and she __**hated**__ this._ _**Don't leave me**__, he begged. There was nothing she wouldn't have done to have committed herself, too, alongside him, and stay nursed in the safety of Wammy's. But Takayama's hand on her shoulder served more of a purpose than just comforting. A reminder._ _**You have a task**__._

_Besides; she wasn't really a child anyway_.

I went to Roger. I asked him for someone in the same league as L. He told me, 'there is no-one'.

_Stony cold eyes unsettling him in the young face. She didn't care. She wanted someone in L's league; and there was no-one. No-one he could give her contact with._

There truly was no-one. Unless I had the disposable funds of a small country, I was helpless. No funds. No support. I was just one girl with the help of one man; undeserving of anyone's time.

_Hopeless. She could read it in Takayama's eyes. But she was more strong-willed than she realised. _

But I … pestered.

'_Someone had to take his place.'_

'_Someone did.'_

'_Who?'_

And then, the silence.

_I wouldn't be put off. Eventually, after pleading, begging, threatening …_

'_**Fine! Near!'**_

'_**Near? Near what?'**_

'_**His name. It's Near.'**_

'_**Ah. Near …' **_

_She tested the name, rolling it over her tongue, just another tile in the unfamiliar mosaic of this new language. _

'_**Where can I find him?'**_

He succumbed. To get rid of me. And put me in contact with Near. Looking back, it seems odd … obviously, he knew …

_The look of sorrow in her eyes. The bend in her shoulders. The determination in her face …_

He knew I was different.

One phone call. One. To Near. That was all I was allowed. It was a waste; a betrayal, when I needed help so badly. Even with a reference from Roger … he made me feel like dirt.

_Nerve-wracking; certainly. L's successor. But she was deserving of his respect, as much as she was of his. Roger had guessed this, from one conversation from the hardly human child. Not robotic like Near; not explosive like Mello … otherworldly. With something in her eyes that made Roger feel eerily as if she had already died. _

_But Near's voice gave her no comfort. No compassion. An eloquently brutal refusal. That was all. She didn't like to think of it; even years later. She had felt like … trash. Like dirt beneath his feet._

For a while, I wondered if he was correct in his assumption. Was I just … destined to fail? I went back to Roger, anyway … I had to.

'_**Is he … okay?' **_

_The older man's eyes were blank, with just a hint of kindness._

'_**He's not settling in very well. He just needs some time. It's been hard on him.' **_

_And she silently absorbed this. _

And I asked him. For more.

'_**There is no more, Charlise. There is no-one else. If Near refused you, then accept his refusal. I can't help you. I won't.'**_

He wasn't … forthcoming. But that has never stopped me before.

'_**You lie. There was more than one successor. The entire aim of this hole is to groom children to succeed him! Where are the others?'**_

'_**We don't keep files once they leave! Everyone in the league you're looking for is gone, or dead! They've disappeared!'**_

'_**There has to be someone who can help me! I **_**need**_** someone. I don't care how hard I have to search, I'll find them! Just … tell me who to look for, and I'll leave you alone!'**_

Perhaps it'd be true to say it was a bribe he couldn't refuse.

'**Fine**_**! You asked for it! Go, go travel the world, search the graveyards and the drug-dens and the war-zones of the world, and see if you can find a boy called Mello. He's your last hope.'**_

And that was the first I heard of him. All of those many years ago. Mello ... Second.

'_**Mello? Just Mello?'**_

_Maybe it was the spark of enthusiasm, so out of place that let the pity swell to fill his heart, and force the words out of his mouth._

'_**Or Matt. A gamer. Maybe he'll be easier to find. Mello's friend; and he was Third. He's a hacker.'**_

'_**Please. About Mello –'**_

'_**I don't know. I don't know anything else. He left about a year or two ago; I haven't heard from him. He's a few years older than you. That's all I know. Please, leave me, now. Get out. I don't want to think about them any more. I don't want to know. Leave me alone.'**_

_And when he hid his face in his hands, she left without a whisper of thanks, leaving him to the silence he so desired. _

I won't bore you with the details of the next few years …but they were difficult …

'_**Merde!**_**'** _the red-haired girl shrieked, ripping her latex glove off as the acid bit through to her skin. She stared at the blistering skin as she ran it under the tap and met the eyes of her guardian over the counter-top._

'_**I wish I could say I'm close**_**,**' _she sighed, her heavy accent rendering the words stiff._

'_**You're doing well, Charlise-chan.'**_

'_**Not well enough. I can't evade much longer. I – I can't do it alone.'**_

_Takayama's eyes were soft._

'_We will persevere.'_

Perplexing …

'_**What do you mean? How can his trail have just … ended? What, we just have him, and he enters the Mafia … and he's gone? How does that work? We have to find him!'**_

_The old Japanese man looked around worriedly, lowering his voice as he leaned over the heavy silver bike._

'_**His trail is cold. They are protecting him. But give up the thought of him for a moment, Charlie-chan. They are closing in on us. This city is no longer safe for you. Travel westwards. I'll contact you. But leave – **_**now**_**. Their attack is imminent. I'll distract them. **_**Go**_**. Forget Mello.'**_

'_**Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre …'**_ _she frowned, staring at the traffic lights ahead. _Every dog has their day …

_Then she kicked the bike to life and sped away, every inch the angry youth._

And dangerous.

_Panic._ Closing in … _fail fail fail _don't let him die failfailfail **abort abort abort abort **_save me, maman I love you _**HELP M**

_And then …_

… _the silence, as her world engulfed itself in flame._

… I won't bore you with the details.

I had to forget about Mello; soldier on alone. I couldn't get to him. He was untouchable, and I was basically alone. I had other things requiring my attention. But over time, without me even noticing, Deneuve … you … gathered around me.

'_**You can trust me,**_' _Crash had smiled, upon their meeting. And Charlie had stared up at him, as if she didn't understand the words. But as the others gathered, it was a concept she began to slowly understand. _

And suddenly … we were an organisation. I was no longer alone. And you all had your reasons for wanting Kira gone. Even if we were all just thrown together to escape other dangers.

Eventually, we all realised all of our problems related back to Kira. Kira is the source. If we eradicate Kira … our problems disappear. And so … the task began in earnest.

'_**It's a tough call …'**__ Paprika said, absently filing her nails._

'_**Yes,**__' Charlise agreed, limping to the window to gaze into the dull street below. __**'I understand that it will be difficult. But of all of us, you are the most suited to the position, Paprika.'**_

_The pale eyes were free of deceit, as always, and Paprika bit her lip. She couldn't deny it, though. Twenty-one years old, beautiful, sassy, street-wise Paprika … well used to revolving in shadier circles. But … could she? Wouldn't she blow it? Looking at focused, controlled young Charlise … there was no way she'd be able to play the part. This was Paprika's duty .. another step in the plan; and she'd do it. _

'_**Okay. I'll join the Mafia, and look out for this kid … but if I die, I want a seriously dramatic funeral.'**_

_Charlise smiled, a secret dimple popping into view._

'_**Je promets,**__' she assured the Spanish girl, whose brow relaxed as she nodded._

And for a while … things went well. Paprika climbed the ranks, as you know …and you knew she was looking for someone for me, but business went on as usual here.

'_**Do we need a new batch of test subjects, Char?'**__ Crash asked, moving a crate of pewter-coloured bottles. Charlise slipped her goggled away and sighed._

'_**Yes, it looks like. Maybe we should pity the poor rats and start testing trainee medical students instead,**__' she said, dolefully, as Crash chuckled._

'_**Don't be hard on yourself. We're getting there.'**_

_He bumped the small French girl cheerfully. And for the first time, she didn't flinch away._

But Mello … he was no-where to be found.

'_**Too well-guarded. He's hidden, Char,**__' Paprika whispered down the pay-phone. Charlie was very still in Headquarters, deep in thought. _

'_**He's protected by them.'**_

_Charlie hissed, aggrieved. Things had been going so well. And then, of course, their target had to disappear off the map._

'_**Maybe he's dead?'**__ Paprika suggested. Charlie shook her head, though Paprika wouldn't be able to see her._

'_**No. He's not dead. I'd know**__,' she said, with conviction. She would, too. She may have never laid eyes on the boy, but she felt that she knew him too well, now. They were linked, like it or not._

'_**Paprika. I have an idea …'**__ Charlie said suddenly, and Paprika tensed in anticipation._

'_**Did I ever tell you about the SPK?'**_

And so, the investigation moved on, and changed direction. And we were doing so well in the lab! Everything was well …

'_**LEFT!'**_

_Paris swerved left, his entire body locked in concentration._

'_**RIGHT!' **_

_The car dragged in the other direction. With one sharp glance in the mirror, he knew how things would pan out._

'_**DUCK, CHARLIE, DUCK!'**_

_The girl dived to the floor, as the windows smashed with gunfire._

'_**Damn it!'**__ Paris roared, crossing hands and wrenching the wheel around, so the car spun in a tight donut._

'_**Hold on!'**__ he advised Charlise, as he stamped on the accelerator, and they booted down an alley, all guns blazing, running for their lives._

… There is no rest for us wicked. We have always been pursued, by those who covet what we have. I used to think there was good in everyone … now I realise that the only good in anyone is the desire to save others.

_A red-haired boy smiling gappily. The image fading sadly to a sullen bleach-haired youth._

Saving people from each other.

_Faceless Kira, spreading misery wherever their hand reached._

And themselves.

_Mello. Just Mello._

'That is my aim. I realise that the time has come for me to share this with you, and pray you will join me in earnest. Because that is my sole intention_._'

Charlie snapped back into the present, trying to shake the lingering images from her mind. Deneuve stared up at her, bemused, shocked, seething, stumped. She looked into every face, preparing herself for what was yet to come. When she would present their choices to them.

A window caught her attention in the moment before she would speak; a blank window with a view of nothing but a square of pitch sky, and all she could think of was _here the lies stop, and the brutal truth begins._

'With Mello's help; your help …we can _end_ this suffering. If we trust; we work …Set aside all differences, all grudges … if we are prepared to sacrifice ourselves, it can be ended. All of it.

'I know. It's a desperate outlook. But that's all I've ever been about, even if I never told you. You think it's crazy. You think it's over the top. Too much. A ridiculous waste. But everything I ever loved has been stolen from me. I have only lived to end the suffering of those who have suffered as I have. My sole purpose is to rid the world of Kira, to stop the killing.

'I have been prepared since my childhood to sacrifice myself for the cause. It's … the only real thing about my life.'

The smile on her face was tragic. It reminded Paris of the look on Juliet's face as she gazed down at Romeo, dead before her. The small, sad smile of perfect love, and sacrifice. It was the first play he'd seen, and the inspiration for his name.

'I know. I ask a lot. But I ask one thing more – don't do this lightly. I would beg you to leave if you value your life. Leave. Don't waste it unless you're sure you feel the same way. This is not for the faint of heart. This … this is for us sincere fools.'

Her voice dropped in volume, and Paris strained to hear her, even though she knew, before she even started to speak that what she would say would horrify him.

'Since I was a little girl, all I've wanted is to stand back in the family portrait, stiff and unsmiling with my mother, father and sweet little brother. I'd give up _anything_ for it. And Kira stole it all from me.

'There's nothing left for me. Except revenge.

'I know. It's a different picture than I sold you when you entered. Well, now you know. I'm not that sweet. I'm not that innocent. I'm not blood-thirsty. I'm just … _broken_. Maybe I'll never be fixed. Maybe not even revenge will work. But I owe it to everyone like me to at least try.

'I know it's a lot to ask of anyone. Especially people like you. I know we're not exactly normal, but we get by. We all have our reasons for being here … but I wipe the slate as of now. If you want to leave, I won't stop you. Or think any the worse of all. All I will do is to thank you, from the bottom of my heart for your dedication and help and tell you, in honesty and truth … I could never have done it without you.

'If you stay, I cannot guarantee your survival. I'm telling you that now. I can't guarantee it at all. So when you come to decided, make sure you know the price you might pay.'

She limped to the door of the elevator, ready to make a swift getaway, her very bones feeling weary, her heart feeling broken, Mello and Dixon's faces mingling strangely in her mind.

'Goodnight, everyone. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But it's a great release to have it in the open. I never kept you under false pretences, I never endangered your lives more than I could possibly help. But now we come to make a choice. I hope … I pray that your decision will not lead to any more tragedy. It's the last thing this world needs.

'Goodnight, my friends. Goodnight.'

And as the elevator doors clanged shut, a tear slipped from the corner of the French girl's eye. It hurt to realise …

She'd had everybody fooled.

* * *

_Look, here she comes now  
Bow down and stare in wonder  
Oh, how we love you -  
No flaws when you're pretending_

_But now I know she  
never was and never will be  
You don't know how you've betrayed me  
And somehow,_

_ You've got everybody fooled ..._

_- Everybody's Fool, Evanescence_

_

* * *

_**Review me. Love me. I don't deserve it, but please ... I'm dyeing Mello's hair soon. Most inventive shade shall be included ...**

**So. What colour shall the Mello locks be turned? It's down to you, my fols. ;)**

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	12. Phase 12: Stop?

**Oh, waow. Hopefully things will get slightly more on track from here on in ... ha ... ha ... ;) No, they will, I have a plan. But I warn you, this is by far the darkest chapter to date. From the centre point, it wrote itself. I swear. ;) Enjoy, loves ...**

**Pairings: **Well, for this chapter, it's looking like CharlieXMello, but then again, last chappie it TOTALLY WASN'T. So who knows!

**Songs: **Chasing Pavements by Adele, and Miss Me When I'm Gone, by Simple Plan. ;)

**Shout out to: Everyone who reads this. I love you!**

To my wonderful **Rat**, you're just too cute. ;) THE GODS OF UPDATES COMMEND YOU!! I'm glad you liked it, don't worry, it gets a bit lighter from here on in. CHESNEY'S IN THE NEXT CHAPPIE!! And wow, _I _want green hair and teal stripes!!! ... actually, **PAULA**!! WHAT DO YOU THINK??? (she loves green, like ...) But thank you, as ever, for your kind words, my dear Rat. Next to **Pisces my love**, ;) I thank you, dear Pisces. I'm going to kick him too. He's a man-bitch, that much is certain! By the way, cameo contest comin' up soon, be sure to enter! ... I WANT THAT HAIR TOO!!! My God, I want all of these hairs!! To **Con the Epic**, I understand, nothing muted for that child ... I think Matt's hair is red at the moment ... ah, hell, he can top it up! It _wasn't _the flu of doom, I don't know what it was ... SEND ME A MESSAGE!! There I shall spillith. ;) I'm glad you like Charlie, I like her too ... she's a total psycho in this, though!! He he ... I AM enjoying stuff ... OH, THE SLEAZE!!!! ;) To **Mayu-darling**, AH MESSAGED!! AT LAST, AT LAST!!! ... awwww!! THAT'S SO CUTE!! I'm glad you don't hate me. Or her. ;) He he thank you my love! I appreciate it and hope you enjoy this one!!!

And to **Paula-fol** ... as ever, thanks for letting me bounce ideas off you. YOU ROCK, FOL!!

**YOU'RE ALL GOING TO HATE ME WHEN YOU REALISE THE CURCUMSTANCES OF MELLO'S HAIR DYING ... HE HE, IN A WHILE! ENJOY!**

* * *

-

Phase 12: **Stop?**

**-  
**

_This is the transfer point; there's no going back._

_-  
_

The subway at midnight in New York City was no place for little girls. And to New York of midnight, that was all Charlise Boucher (alias, of course) was.

Her red hair was bundled into a messy bun, covered in a light silk scarf, and dark glasses were jammed over her pale eyes, wild behind the screen separating her and the rest of the world. She was dressed in a long, dark coat; all sharp lines and shadow, but the green Converse still peeped out at the end, resting on the rubber end of her metallic cane.

She wasn't watching the drug dealer at the other end of the car. She knew she should, but that responsibility to keep herself alive was lodged behind the part of her brain that was trying damn hard to keep her screams inside her head. It was a pretty tiring task. She wasn't watching him, but he was watching her.

His name was Marshall. His mom was living in one of the high rise buildings downtown, in apartment filled with cushions and plush carpet and tea-cosies, where she could watch her stories on her little TV and anticipate the weekly visits from her son. Marshall was good to his mom. She'd been good to him. He did what he had to do to make it through one more week, one more visit to her. It wasn't exactly a lifestyle choice – it had just happened.

He shifted suddenly, glancing behind himself, wondering if he should try to make a sale to the blind chick, or just mug her. She looked totally spaced out; or maybe it was just being blind that did it. Yeah, sure, he'd heard it a thousand times; be nice to blind people, help them across roads, and if you ever totally fail at life and become a thug, don't beat 'em up. Have at least a shred of decency.

Ugh. He'd already sold his soul. There was no point even trying to maintain self-respect. He'd sold his body, and his soul with it. It had been a long way to fall. He might as well hit bottom.

The girl raised her head just as he was about to draw the knife out of his pocket, and pulled off her glasses to show pale eyes that were by no means blind in the slightest.

'If you intend to kill me,' she told him, in a thickly accented voice that sounded too young to be burdened with such weight, 'then I have to warn you that though I would not protest, and you should in fact be doing me a great favour, I have no money or assets to make such a task worth your while.'

The man stared at her wide-eyed, his calloused hand still inside his jacket and gripping the handle of a rusty switch-blade … and then, because it just wasn't his day, the lights all flickered off, and the subway car ground to a halt in the middle of a dark tunnel.

The girl released a sigh, as a few dim emergency lights flickered on pitifully, giving the car a ghostly luminous appearance, kindly failing to illuminate the filth and squalor of the place, instead merely casting a pearly glow over the pale eyed girl with the haunted look about her. The man gasped, and scrabbled backwards as she turned towards him, tugging the silk scarf off his bright hair and tossing it away.

'Are you alright?' she asked, detachedly, looking in the opposite direction.

The man cast about, disorientated for a moment, before realising the blade was in his hand, and lapsing naturally back into his learned behaviour. He had a knife. This was what he did and the way he acted when he had a knife.

'Gimme your purse!' he called out, 'Or I'll stick you!'

'I don't carry a purse,' she murmured, not looking at him.

'I don't care! Give me your money, or I'll kill you!'

The girl sighed again, and grasped the handle of her cane, before dragging herself laboriously to her feet to lean heavily on the cane, and stand facing him.

'Sir. If you do that, then you're going to have to sit here in the dark with my corpse rotting at your feet until the train starts again. Unfortunately, you have nothing to gain from killing me, and I cannot allow myself to die, as that would be too merciful on myself.'

She limped to a window and stared into the darkness silently. She had a really bad limp …

The man let the blade fall out of his hand; and the noise of it hitting the floor startled him. He snatched it up, cradling it close to his chest, as he stared at the girl.

'What, you suicidal or something?'

He didn't know why he'd asked the question. He didn't care. But she smiled wryly anyway, as if the words held a special significance to her.

'No, no, that would be far too easy.'

'… okay …'

The man shifted uncomfortably, and hesitated.

'Um … are you alright? You're kind of weird.'

She turned, wariness traced in every feature.

'You just tried to rob me, and if I'm not mistaken, you're high on something. My friend, I'm not the weird one here.'

'Yes, you are. Chicks like you don't ride the subway at night. Alone. And the ones that do are _all _high.'

'Chicks like me?'

'Yeah.'

'Pray, tell … what kind of 'chicks' are those?'

The man cast her a shrewd glance, noting her expensive coat and well-groomed appearance.

'Rich chicks. Foreign chicks … smart chicks.'

Half of her mouth twisted into a smile.

'I don't blame them. It's a worrying place.'

'So why are you here?'

She quirked an eyebrow.

'Does this mean you're not going to stab me?'

He raised his hands by reply, and sank into one of the decrepit seats.

'Sure. Too much trouble. Besides, I think this will be more interesting.'

When he looked up at her, he felt something close to vertigo wash over him. It was the mixture of strong emotions alive in the stiff face. Guilt and glory, pride and horror, and the deep bonding chain of absolute torment.

Then he blinked, and it was gone, the face expressionless once more.

'What makes you think I have a decent story to tell you?'

The man shrugged.

'I don't know. But we're not goin' anywhere. Why not?'

The girl blinked at him, before dropping to a seat on the other side of the car.

'Fine. You'll regret asking, I can assure you that.'

'Aw, come on. What's your name?'

She hesitated, looking in the opposite direction.

'Charlise.'

'Like, Charlize Theron?'

The girl looked over at him, confused.

'Who?'

'Never mind … You ain't from New York, huh?'

'No.'

The man reached up a hand to swipe a hank of sandy hair off his forehead, and grin at the girl.

'You involved in, shall we say, 'unofficial' activities?'

The girl's face seemed to tilt; her eyebrows slanting and her mouth twisting.

'Such as?'

'I dunno, drug smuggling? Human trafficking? … Mafia?'

The girl slumped at that, and he hummed, satisfied.

'Yeah, something like that,' she muttered.

'So, what's eatin' you?'

'Did you want to be a psychologist in another life?'

The man laughed, a hoarse, pained sound, and reached into his jacket, pulling out a crushed box of cigarettes. He pulled one out, and stuck it in his mouth, before patting his pockets for a lighter. One appeared just before him, held by the French girl with the moody look on her face.

'Thanks,' he said, reaching forward to take it. A moment later, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke seemed to be everywhere, but the girl just sighed and shifted wearily, tucking the silver lighter back into her pocket.

'You a smoker?'

'No.'

'Why do you carry a lighter, then?'

'I'm a scientist. I use it for setting things on fire.'

The man laughed.

'Is that how you usually work out your anger?'

'Certainly. Why not?'

'Are you having a fight with your parents?'

'They're dead.'

'Oh. Sorry.'

She merely shrugged, still looking decidedly in the opposite direction.

'Are you having a fight with your boyfriend?'

'I haven't got one, thankfully.'

'Bad experience?'

'It's complicated.'

'Sure. Are you fighting with _anyone_?'

'Sort of.'

'Friend?'

'Friend_s_.'

'Oh, bummer. How come?'

'They're all loyal to the point of folly. The point of idiocy.'

He tugged the cigarette from his mouth.

'You've lost me.'

The girl clenched a fist subconsciously, and sighed.

'My friends are too willing to die with me. My 'unofficial activities' as you call them, are dangerous. I told my friends to leave and save themselves, if they could drag themselves away. But all of them – _all _of them – chose to stay. And now they have no choice; I'll lose at least some, if not all of them.'

'Dead?'

'Oui.'

'Ouch … shit, what kind of stuff are you involved in?'

The glance she cast him was as despairing as it was compassionate.

'The kind of stuff that, in a small, insignificant way, could save your life, someday. And in a bigger, more significant way –'

The train jolted into gear and began moving again. She stopped suddenly, and her head dropped.

'I'm sorry,' she said, in a ravaged voice. 'I can say no more.'

'It's okay,' said the man, shifting anxiously, and glancing out a window at the tunnel walls flying past.

'So, your friends are all sticking with you?'

'To their detriment. Yes.'

'Can't you … can't you tell them all to get off? Can't you make them?'

The girl found this question the most difficult to answer.

'It seems that … _love_, as it were, the seemingly most precious of human experiences can also be the most deadly. Love has linked us all too closely, remembering our task. love and loyalty. It is the cause of all of our problems. And, direfully enough, the solution. They'll never leave.'

The train slowed down as it slid into the fluorescently lit station. It was fairly empty … Charlise watched straight ahead out of the window opposite her. One canoodling couple, one drunk business man, one homeless woman begging, three scantily clad girls cackling together, one shady looking blonde boy, one girl –

As soon as the doors opened, the blonde boy strode forward, heading directly to her car. She closed her eyes, but she could still hear …

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

'Oh, no …' she breathed, and opened her eyes in time to see the blonde boy with half of a face step aboard and glare.

'Hello, Charlise.'

'Bonsoir, Mello.'

He stalked forth, and then surprisingly sat next to her. The doors slid closed, and the train began moving again, with Marshall still aboard, and now staring.

'I've been looking for you.'

'I had guessed.'

She didn't look at him. He didn't look at her.

'How did you know where to find me?'

'Wild guess.'

'I don't believe you.'

'Good.'

There was silence for a moment, during which time Marshall managed to gather the following details: the blonde guy had something wrong with his face, was wearing black leather and had a rosary around his neck.

The silence lasted until the next station.

'Get out,' the blonde boy told the other man, calmly.

'What?'

'Get – out – of the train.'

'Wow, wow, wait a second, I –'

The man pulled a highly polished silver gun out of his coat and aimed it at the man.

'That wasn't a request,' he informed him. The girl merely sighed, and looking down.

'Go on. I told you it was complicated,' she said, and looked over at him as the train pulled into the station.

'Goodbye,' she said, courteously. The man stood, trembling, as the doors opened.

'See you around, Ch-Charlise,' he stuttered, before sprinting away, into the station, and back to the life he knew. Mello sat down again.

'Why are you on this train?'

'The bus was full.'

'Again: why are you on this train?'

'It's the furthest I could get from that world I come from.'

'Charlise. Why?'

'Because I can't go back there! How can everyone be so eager to forfeit their lives?'

An intensity had burst into flames across her face.

'I wanted them to leave; I wanted them to not be such _fools_! I don't want their deaths on my conscience! How can they do this to me?'

The words were out, and they seemed to hang in the air like the smoke of the discarded cigarette. Charlise didn't try to take them back, letting them set and remain.

'I know you heard everything,' she said, carefully. He nodded.

'Yes.'

'In that case, answer me just one question, Mello – all of those years, all of that searching for you to help me, to end it at last; will it be worth it?'

Pale eyes full of trust, disconcerting in the pale face, and all of a sudden, Mello had never wanted to hurt anything as much in his life – because it was just _Near _staring up at him. Pale, robotic, and if he was kind enough to admit it, broken. Just a kid.

She was too much like Near. And for that, though he couldn't hate her, (because, really now, he didn't hate Near, hard as he tried to believe otherwise) he could dislike her enough to force her to doubt.

'I don't know.'

She nodded, as if this was not entirely unexpected.

'Well then,' she said, standing as the train drew into the station, and Mello stood next to her, 'I suppose I'll just have to try harder. If that's possible.'

She stepped off the train, and didn't look back.

'Coming, Mello? I'm sure someone, somewhere is already digging our graves, but until the day I'm fit for mine, I'll keep my promise to you. We will defeat Kira.'

'We're not going to survive.'

'You and I?'

'Yes.'

'No.'

Mello stepped after her, and sighed, pushing his hair back as the train left the station.

'Oh, well.'

'Indeed,' she smiled, and looked up at him.

'Let's go, before they start looking for me.'

Mello pulled the chocolate bar from his pocket.

'You know, Charlise, you're not so bad when you're not sickly sweet and full of shit.'

'Merci, Mello. You're not so bad when you get your head out of your ass.'

She limped forward towards the exit, and Mello followed, in the space of time it took for a grin to pass over his face and disappear, so that no one could tell it had been there.

And the two walked to the exit, and a step closer to death.

* * *

_Should I give up?  
Or should i just keep chasing pavements, __even if it leads no where?_

Or would it be a waste?  
Even if I knew my place, should I leave it there?  
- Chasing Pavements, Adele

* * *

So, like Marshall or hate him? I think he was rather cool.

LATER, my follish loves. ;)

- Wraithlike xxx


	13. Phase 13: Acceptance

**A/N: I know. I know. You hate me. You love me. From here on in, there's lots of drama and romance and angst and gun fights and sexual revelations (I know, right? That's not like me at ALL, AT ALL) ;) So stay tuned, and remember that I love you. ;)**

**Songs: **Satellite Heart, Anya Marina - that _is _Charlise. And me, actually ... and Let's Get It Started, by the Black Eyed Peas, because it's finally starting. At last. Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride. ;)

**Shout out to:**

1st up, my fol, PAULA!! I LOVE YOU CHILD!! HAPPY UBER SWEET 16th! Hope it's the best year in the best bestest best year friend FOREVAH!!!!! ;) Love you my fol!! xxxx

2nd up, my Killostalker. No messages in this one, either, sweetie ... ;) But Mahler to come, and that's a promise.

And lastly, to my reviewers: **Rat, **my dear, here's to you, with the promise of lots more angst to come! ;) Marshall was cool, perhaps I'll rerun him ... THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT MY LOVE!! **P0Procks**, happy late new year too!! I'm glad you're enjoying it, welcome aboard, my friend! And yup, the Mattelloness is ALWAYS welcome. ;) Thanks for the review! To **Rinny**, I'm so glad!! He he, keep the questions bout the Emerald Isle coming, you know I love them. ;) To **Fanfiction Fanatician, **wow. I am bowled over by your praise. I really can't thank you enough. Seriously, I can't even describe my gratutude, but to say, I'm so glad you're enjoying it and I hope I continue to meet the high standard I have set. Thanks again for your wonderful words of praise. I hope I can live up to them. ;) **LEXICON**, I love you. I just love you. I just totally, totally love you. And I'm so tired, so I'll just say it again. I love you.

**Kilostalker **(that's Paula, not you, Killian) I love you too. But I'm feckin tired. CHAPTER!!

**DIXON? MENSA? OH, NO ... THINGS ARE GETTING COMPLICATED. KEEP A WEATHER EYE OUT FOLKS! AND REVIEW!

* * *

**

-

Phase 13 : **Acceptance**

**-**

_Why fight the inevitable?_

_-  
_

_They weren't the kind of people that you usually found in nightmares. _

'Good morning,' the fresh-faced woman smiled at Charlie, her slim hands folded neatly over her tweed skirt. She had pink cheeks and the kind of smile that Charlie had missed since her mother's death.

Charlie was only eleven. She was very young, and very recently bereaved. But she wasn't a fool.

_They all seemed so …_

'Would you like a bon-bon, my dear?'

… _nice._

Charlise took a tentative step closer to the strange woman, one hand deep in the pocket of the pink gingham dress the people at the orphanage had procured for her to wear. It was weird, they had seemed so flustered and impressed by this woman's arrival – Charlise had yet to understand why.

'Charlise? Bon-bon?' offered the woman, holding out a hand full of the brightly wrapped sweets. The little girl hardly recognised the name she was being called … after all, it hadn't been her name that long. Her fingers tightened around the pocket watch that, until four months ago, had belonged to her father. Just four months. Four months since she had left her home, four months since her father had died.

_But even then, there was just something off. _

The woman's smile was constant and unwavering. Perhaps Charlise approached because it seemed constant; and she missed consistency in her life. The woman didn't look anything like her mother – her mother had been waif-like, with long, poker straight red hair. This woman was built as if she was used to exercise; she looked strong. Charlise's mother had always been so very slight. This woman had glossy red nails, and a perfect mask of makeup. Charlise's mother had had strong, long nails, but she never wore nail polish – it was unsanitary when she was creating her chocolate masterpieces. And the only makeup she wore was a slick of lipstick when she was going out to dinner, maybe a dash of mascara for special occasions.

_Just a feeling._

'That's right,' she said, comfortably, as the child removed one sweet from her palm. She wasn't French. Her accent was foreign, funnily flat. Charlise stared down at the bright blue plastic covering the sweet in her palm, as her other hand traced the familiar lines of her father's pocket watch, feeling the raised mockingbird, and the crescent moon in the corner. It was all she had left of him, since everything else had been stolen from her. Even her name.

_A hunch._

She pulled her hand out of her pocket, leaving the pocket watch safe inside; the watch which, in a few weeks would be put into storage for Dixon for when he should come of age in case she wasn't there to give it to him, and made to pull the paper off, pausing as the woman spoke.

'I've come a long way to talk to you, Charlise. A very long way.'

'Really.'

A perfect, toneless imitation of an adult's voice. It sounded odd coming from a child's lips. Charlise knew even then, though, that she wasn't really a child. She had borne too much to be that. She reminded herself of Claudia from Interview with the Vampire, by Anne Rice. Not a child's book, certainly, but she had understood Claudia so well. A child with an adult consciousness, stuck in an adult's world.

_But she had always been a perceptive child._

'Yes,' the woman smiled, a flashy, white smile too bright to comfort, smoothing her hands over the lap of the suit that no child had ever sat on.

'All the way from America, just to see you.'

_And it didn't take much to make her suspicious._

'America?'

'Yes.'

The child began unwrapping the sweet carefully.

'You see, Charlise, I represent a group of people, all just like you.'

'Like me?'

'Yes. And, you see, this group would like you to join us, back in America …'

_They weren't the kind of people who featured in nightmares …_

The French child tore off the last layer, pain welling in her heart as the bright, sweetly scented chocolate shell of the sweet appeared in her hands, just as the woman spoke the words that would haunt Charlise for the rest of her life, and sent her spiralling, gasping back into consciousness and reaching for anything to steady herself.

'I come from an organisation called MENSA.'

…_but horror is a fairly universal theme._

oOo

It was kind of weird that Paris had failed to remember that Takayama would be due home fairly soon. He was normally alright at remembering things like that; within reason, of course. Maybe it was just that he'd become accustomed to seeing Charlise as the sole driving force of the organisation. It suited her, he thought: she did well without Takayama breathing down her neck. It was natural; the position that she was just right for. She didn't need Takayama as a crutch any more, loathe as particularly she would be to admit it.

But there you go; it had completely slipped his mind that Takayama would have to come back sometime – slipped so far that happening upon him sitting in Charlie's chair had him reaching for his gun in a mindless reaction.

The elderly Japanese man turned, the patient smile already spreading over his complacent features.

'Ah, young Paris-san. How goes it with you?'

His gaze drifted to the place where the butt of Paris's revolver was just emerging from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before he looked determinedly away, his smile firmly in place.

'Uh, I'm good, Mr. Takayama. Thanks. You?'

'I am well, Paris-san. It's good to see the headquarters once more. I had informed Charlise of my arrival, but she doesn't appear to be at her post.'

_Sounded like an accusation. _Paris shifted unconsciously, just a shade, as if in preparation for a fight.

'No, she sent me down to man the controls, as if were … she's just taking a shower. Twix is due to report in –' Paris glanced over Takayama's shoulder to see the small clock just switching digits in the corner of the monitor, '- three minutes. But of course, with Twix in question …'

He smiled sheepishly, relaxing his stance.

'Indeed. Well, young Paris, don't allow me to keep you from your work. Please. Go ahead.'

Paris paused for a moment, his smile faltering, before he rallied with confidence, to stride to his desk and begin industriously checking feeds and mail programs and status reports.

He sent a brief IM to Charlise. He knew her well enough to know that a laptop was switched on in her room, monitoring everything, all of the time.

_Charlie, Takayama's here. He's sitting in your chair having a look at things. Just thought I'd let you know. ;)_

He was a little surprised when her reply flashed onscreen so fast she must have been sitting just next to the computer.

… _oh. I forgot he was coming today._

Paris scanned the desk before him and saw Takayama engaged in reading something, before daring to reply. He hadn't gotten further than, _would you _when the doors parted and Charlise appeared, her bright hair damp and curling on her shoulders, heavy shadows under her eyes and a flurried look about her.

'Bonjour, Charlise,' Takayama said, composed as ever.

'Bonjour, sensei,' she said, her voice quieter than was normal, even for her.

Paris stood up, feeling ill-at-ease, in this room full of people who knew his many sins.

'I'm going to – uh – go find … Twix …' he stammered. Charlise nodded, a gentle bend of her head.

'Thank you, Paris,' she said, her eyes down, like a child being lectured.

'Please tell the Second to attend to the latest report from London, and ask the Third to continue attending to the code.'

Though Paris noticed and understood her crisp formality, he couldn't help hating it, so unnatural in her flowing voice. A voice made for people, sounding so robotic.

'Of course,' he agreed, trying not to look too hard at her as he walked past into the elevator. But a whiff of her perfume whirled into the lift as the door closed. So instead of trying to understand, he just closed his eyes and inhaled.

oOo

By the time Charlise had finished her story, an hour had been and gone. Takayama sat quietly, absorbing it.

'You've grown, Charlise,' she mused, at last. She stared at him, uncomprehending. He smiled, in a fatherly manner at her.

'How old are you now?'

'Seventeen,' she admitted, rubbing a hand over her nose, as she tended to when she was tired, or awkward.

'When you consider it, there's hardly a difference in age between you and your brother.'

'A year and a half,' she answered immediately, thinking briefly of the night he had been born, and the excitement she had felt.

'And yet, you've always looked after him. Even when your parents lived.'

She glanced up, just a hint of irritation in her eyes. He looked back, his eyes free of deception, softer than she was used to.

'You've looked after everyone. No matter who has come along, no matter what problem they have faced, you've looked after them. Your brother. Your organisation. Paris.'

She didn't blush.

'This is your place, Charlise. In control. _This _is your place; where you have always meant to be.'

Her face set stonily.

'I don't want it.'

'You don't have a choice.'

'I'm sick of not having a choice.'

'This is your life, Charlise.'

'This _isn't _a life!'

She turned away, rapidly, her face like thunder, just catching herself before she went to fall. She didn't like to lose her temper, and generally it was not something that she ever allowed to burst out. She controlled herself, looking firmly away.

'What are you saying?'

'I'm saying … Charlise. This isn't a game. You know that.'

'Yes.'

The old man paused for a moment, speaking even more quietly, trying to make the child understand.

'This is your life. I've brought you to this point, but you've made the decisions. You alone can carry on.'

'What are you saying?' she asked, puzzled. The old man stood up, smiling fondly at the little French girl he had tried to raise, the child he had loved as he had his own.

'I'm saying goodbye, Charlise. I've brought you all you need to carry on your task. I can't help you any longer; I will only hinder you.'

'But – Kira – the vaccine!'

'Charlise. You're very capable of discovering that alone. I did nothing but help you. I've brought you all you need.'

The Japanese man placed a hand on her right cheek, tiling her lost face upwards.

'Trust Paris, as he trusts you. Follow your heart, even when your head disagrees. And please, please Charlise, be careful. And bring me a new world, where I can call you by your real name without worrying about killing you.'

Charlise shook her head, trying to come to terms with what was going on.

'But, I've done so badly! I'm no closer to any answers, I recruited some Wammy drop-outs, one of whom is a mafia boss, and have let him get a good enough footing to try and take over …! I've done everything wrong!'

'Charlise. There is something I have wanted to say to you for many, many years, now. Charlise – calm down.'

She stared for a moment, before teacher and pupil collapsed into laugher, cleansing, calming laughter. When they had finished, Takayama took her hand gently.

'I'm leaving, child. I will return to my home – to my wife.'

Charlise's eyes widened.

'I – I didn't know you had a wife.'

The man nodded.

'Yes. My long-suffering wife. I will return to her, and my children, and their children, finally. Finally, I can do so in the knowledge that you will succeed without me.'

He smiled peacefully.

'I'm proud of you, Charlise,' he said, a smile blooming on his lips.

'Thank you,' Charlise replied courteously, feeling another shadow fall over her and casting her further into the darkness. But somehow, for once, it wasn't that unwelcome a weight. And the heavier it was, the sooner she'd be rid of it.

_I'm proud of me too.

* * *

_

_So pretty, so smart  
Such a waste of a young heart ..._

_I'm a satellite heart  
Lost in the dark  
I'm spun out so far  
You stop, I start ...._

_But I'll be true to you  
_

_No matter what you do_

_Yeah, I'll be true to you ..._

_- Satellite Heart, Anya Marina

* * *

_**A/N:Right. There goes Part 1 of the IQ story. Onto part two. Should I start a new document for it, do you think?  
**

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	14. Interlude of a Teenage Dirt Bag

**Warning: This chapter contains moderate language and adult themes. Nothing graphic, but just to warn you.**

oOo

**/\_-Interlude of a Teenage Dirt-Bag-_/\**

oOo

You know I'm Third.

Everyone knows I'm Third. Well, somewhere in the back of their minds, everyone knows. I'm not Second, or (God forbid) First.

Everyone knows one thing; Mello is Second. And pissed about it. Maybe because he's been denied everything he ever wanted; just a whisper away, just a second too late.

You know, thinking back, I realise that for a while, I was Second. Back in the good old days. Mello was First, then. He had always liked that. He has this thing about superiority, and dominance. I don't know; difficult childhood, or something.

I could tell you all about those.

In case you've been living under a rock, or something, you'll probably know a bit about me. They call me Matt. And … yeah, that's it, really. In retrospect, you likely don't know a lot about me at _all_; people don't.

I've been a teenage dirt-bag since I was fourteen years old. You'd think it'd start getting kind of old sometime around now, but on the current count, I've been a teenage dirt-bag for … yeah, around four years now. Still going strong.

You mightn't think that four years is really a long time, but I do. I mean, Christ, I _know _it's not exactly a figure to be proud of – there was some old couple in the supermarket a few days ago … talking to some cashier. They'd been married for seventy-two years. I mean, Jesus, that's a long time. _That's _something to be proud of.

When they dumped me in Wammy's, I didn't talk. It's not as though I've always been as uncaring as I am now. Ten years of Mello-mania will do that to you. But yeah, I didn't talk. Not a word. Not even to tell Roger my name. I let the social workers do all of that. I just stared up at them, and let them think I was dense. I _was _dense. I couldn't talk, beyond a whimper. If I'd tried, I _might _have been able to eke out 'Please' or 'Stop' occasionally. But I didn't. Pop didn't like me talking. Didn't really like _me, _actually. Or my mom. And she fucking _hated_ me, so really, it all worked out pretty okay.

So. I couldn't talk. I couldn't look anyone in the eye. I couldn't read … yeah, I couldn't read. Well, no one ever taught me. There were no books where I was dragged up. I never learned how to read, or talk, or communicate with other people.

When the forensics came to scrape Mom's brain off the wall (she put a gun in her mouth one day, after my dad had gone out to get drunk. She knew he'd come back, of course, but she'd done it anyway. He _always _came back. No matter how hard you begged whoever was listening to make him stay there, wherever her was for just an hour longer, while you found a place somewhere that maybe, just maybe, nobody would _ever _find you again), they found me. I was under the kitchen sink. I was usually under the kitchen sink. Some woman found me, and screamed blue murder until the rest of them came and pulled me out. I didn't cry. I shivered, but I didn't cry.

_They _cried.

They never bothered with the cute little fairy-tale, 'Mommy had to go to sleep, and she won't be able to wake up, Mail'. What was the point? I was standing in front of her when she pulled the trigger, for Christ's sake. They didn't know that, but really, once they pulled me in for a medical examination, they didn't _need _me to say anything. It was obvious that I could never go back.

My father never came home. He's probably still out there somewhere, but I don't have to worry about him coming after me. The councillor said that I have climbed the steps to society and have worked through my terror and anger of all of those years and that he is a man who should be pitied, and that he can't do anything to hurt or upset me now, since I have cleansed my mind, blah blah blah. But that's a load of bull-shit. I don't worry about him because I know if he ever shows up, Mello will shoot his fucking brains out before he gets in a one-hundred metre radius of me.

I didn't talk, when they took me in. Even when they sat me down with the nice clean woman with the blonde hair and glasses, and she asked me, very gently, what had happened to me at home. She looked like a princess from the picture book they gave me to look at. I didn't open it; I was too afraid of wrecking it, but there was a princess on the cover and it looked just like her. I didn't talk, even then. She suggested a few things and asked me if anything like that had happened to me. I didn't say anything. I just watched a tear draw a shiny line down her face as she patted my head and told me to be a good boy in my new home. I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.

Even though I couldn't talk, they figured I was smart. Brain scans, maybe, or it could have been some tests they made me do. I don't know. I can't remember. I was on some weird tablets at the time … I mean, I had everything going. Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, depression, manic-depression, schizophrenia … anorexia nervosa … I had it all. I'm not exactly 'fixed' even now … I'm still a manic-depressive, but, you know what they say, time is a healer.

Anyway.

So they cart me off to Wammy's. I don't know why, I was still a total wreck. And then Roger says, 'We're going to call you Matt', and next thing I know I'm in a class with fifteen other kids and a teacher, when I've never met another kid in my life, and the teacher is talking so fast and using so many words that I've never heard that I think it's another language. And then the class is over and everyone runs past me and disappears … on my first day, they found my hiding in the kitchens. Under the sink.

They let me have my own room, but I slept on the floor beside the door. Just in case there had been a mistake. Eventually, I was able to move into Mello's room. I was the only kid that they could put there he wouldn't kill.

I think they sort of realised then that I wasn't not exactly on the same page as everyone else. They took me to a speech therapist; no joy. They took me to a football club; no joy. They brought me to a concert; I hid under the seats. They brought me to the sea; I sat still and shivered.

The other kids hated me. The weirdo who sat there and whimpered when they tried to talk to him. It not like they gave me grief; they _were _grief.

One day I sneaked away from Speech Therapy … and when I heard them calling my name, I dodged into whatever room I was next to. And by some twist of fate, it turned out to be Mello's.

He didn't beat me up. I know, having known him now for as long as I have, I can safely say that he would kill _anyone _who did that to him, except for me. He asked what the fuck I was doing. He was around nine of ten at the time, foul mouthed as ever. Then he asked who I was, and what I was doing here, and why I didn't speak. I didn't answer. He said that if I didn't learn they'd never leave me the hell alone and I should get over it and learn to talk. He said that basically good for me if I'd had a shit life; I could go and join the club. He said, 'at least learn to say your own fucking name … what is it, Matt, is it?'

I shook my head, but he waved disinterestedly at me. 'That's your name now, get used to it. You think I was born 'Mello'? Yeah, right. So, Matt? Okay. Matt. _Maa-aat._ It's easy. Try.'

'Mmmmah.'

'No. Ma-at. Matt. Maa-aat. 'T'. You get it? Go for it.'

'Mmmaah-aah.'

'Ma-_at_. Again.'

'Maaah-aaahht.'

'Good. Again. Maaatt. Try it.'

'Maatt.'

'So. There you go, that's your name. Your name is Matt.'

'Matt?'

'Yeah.'

'… matt?'

'Uh-huh, my name's Mello.'

I don't know how exactly when became friends. But I knew he were friends when he knocked out the guy who was hassling me one day, and got a week of detention for it … and then waited until he woke up and knocked him out again.

Things were, you know, pretty simple back then. Mello was First. I was Second, apparently, though I was still learning how to read, and to talk. They cancelled my appointment with the speech therapist, relinquishing me into Mello's care, even though I'm pretty sure they were a little worried about the words he was teaching me. He was actually a pretty good teacher. He's not that patient any more. At _all, _actually. He's much angrier now than he ever was as a child. Or maybe it's just that Mello … well, he's always been indulgent when it comes to me.

When Near arrived, things got more complicated. It was probably then that the two of us started distancing ourselves from the rest of the world. We were Matt-and-Mello. It was us against them, and we liked it that way.

Mello was always my best friend, and I was always him. I owe him my speech, my sanity … I owe him both my lack of grievous body harm and my _excess_ of grievous body harm. Mello protected me from the rest of the world, but he couldn't protect me from himself. He's always been the only person who was allowed to curse and swear at me, and beat me within an inch of my life, and then set fire to a teacher's desk when they called me a lazy bastard.

I know what you're thinking. Yeah, okay, fine. When I was fourteen I fell totally in love with him. But don't get the wrong idea. I didn't do anything … I mean, he was straight. I thought _I _was straight too. I still think I'm straight … ugh. Look, it's complicated, okay? And besides, he left home that year.

Do I love Mello? Of course I love him. He's my best friend in the whole, wide world. He's the only person I've ever been able to rely on. Before he left me, _he _was consistency in my life. I could tell Mello anything. If he was ever inclined to stop bottling _everything_, he could tell me anything too. I love him like a brother. Nothing else. That phase of my life is over, and really, it was never going to happen. Of course I love him. But there's a line between us that I will never overstep. If he hadn't left, I probably would have crossed it by now. Maybe it's a good thing that he left when he did.

They called Mello 'fag' for years. It's kind of funny that they got it _totally _the wrong way around. Well, sort of – I mean, I'm not _gay_, but – look, I already said it's complicated. Let's just skim over that.

His departure signalled the beginning of the teenage dirt-bag years. The ones where the kids would whisper about me and Mello and wonder what the hell had happened. Why he left. Left _me_. I wondered the same thing, but then I remembered that I am not the centre of the universe, and that Mello is far too much of a genius to stagnate in one place for too long, especially when there's a world that needs saving. That's what I told myself, anyway. Well, I couldn't believe fairy stories when I was a kid, so why not try them out during the teen years?

And then, when I found him again, yeah, sure, it broke my heart to see what he'd _done _to himself. It didn't surprise me, but I'll admit when I took the bandages off and saw most of his face was missing, I had to choke back some tears. He'd changed. Changed totally. I knew I had too, and maybe we'll never be back to being Matt-and-Mello, kiddie geniuses. Maybe we'll just have to settle for being Matthew and Mello, adults with problems. Or maybe not. Honestly? I don't see us living that long.

Four years as a teenage dirt-bag. It's a long time for someone like me. The first constant in my life … and probably the last. That's why it's such a big deal. People like me … well, we don't tend to really live very long. I'm probably sort of nearing the end of the line sometime around now. Oh, don't worry, it's not like I'm going to go throw myself on some train tracks or whatever, but you know. If you don't hear about me for a while, you can pretty safely presume that I won't be coming back.

Wait … pretend I didn't say that. It's not a cause for tears. Really, it's not that bad. I'm not dead _yet. _And besides, I've had a good run. I've had good friends. Well, I've had Mello, anyway. And I had four years of consistency to my name. That's a pretty big deal for me. It won't be that hard to say goodbye when you know the world like I do.

In an ideal world … but that's a stupid thought. There can never be an ideal world for me, because ideally, Mello would have to be happy, and he could never be happy in my ideal world.

So, I'll just wait around for the trumpets to sound, if that's okay with you. Maybe they won't sound for a while, but you know what? I'm okay with that either way. There's a pretty good view from where I'm sitting at the moment. And Mello's sitting next me, wherever we are. And when the trumpets, sound, we'll hear them together.

That's a promise, Melz. A promise and a thank you, for always saving my life.

* * *

_And through it all  
How could you cry for me?  
Cause I don't feel bad about it.  
So shut your eyes,  
Kiss me goodbye,  
And sleep.  
Just sleep._

_The hardest part is letting go of your dreams._

_- Sleep, My Chemical Romance

* * *

_**A word from Matthew, from the point upon which we stand, balanced. **

**Next up: IQ : Unbeatable, Part 2.**** Certainly, it'll be much bloodier, and with a good deal more shocking revelations ... are you sure you can handle it?**

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	15. Operation Dixon: Phase 1: Reprise

**So! Thus commences the second part of IQ: Unbeatble - The Dixon Arc.**

**Dixon. Just a name at the moment. A kid of importance to Charlise, but really, he's just a kid caught in the cross-fire of a dangerous world. But when things start turning nasty, he needs out - and fast. It's up to the crew to save him ... or maybe not the crew. Maybe just a calculated genius, ready to make a leap of faith ...**

**So get ready for little Dix to make a big impression ... don't worry. You're going to love him.  
**

**Enjoy Part Two, my loves. You've been waiting long enough for it.**

**Song: **Only Designer Skyline by Owl City for this one, folks. I was having a bit of a blank. ;)

**Shout out to: **My actually legitimately epic crew of reviewers. I love you ALL.

**CHAPTER 13: **On To my epical **Rat **(do you like my word? I made it up in your honour) AWWWW!! YOU'RE AMAZING. I love the account, that's some pretty kick-ass account-ness right there. ;) I'm glad you liked Paris, and yes, his past has been extremely dodge. But he's a love, isn't he? ;) I'm so glad you're likin' the Charliseness - you're amazing. I love you. I hope the updates gods favour both of us : me with inspiration and you with an update! I'll be prayin' along with you! ;) To **Fanfiction Fanatician, **yeah, it's a bit of a mad name alright, but somehow it was the only one I could ever think of using for her! Even though it's not her real name ... -salutes- Yes, ma'am! I hope this update is satisfactory. ;) To **Pisces**, hello my dear! It's good to hear from you too! I'm glad you feel like you're getting to know Charlise, I'm learning more and more about her as I write her myself ... she's certainly an interesting lady. She's changing, and growing, a lot like a real person ... hope you enjoy part 2! To **Original Fol**, I know! Isn't Takayama the cutest? Bless him ... he IS like Alfredo! But I loved Alfredo, and honestly, Takayama kind of freaked me out. He was sort of just there to take advantage of Charlise's genius and mould it to support his own ... but anyway! You actually got it in one there, about his pushing her for her own good ... but it was just slightly unhealthy. She was just a kid. And yes, there is very, very dark stuff on the horizon. You're going to hate it. It'll be like Naruto all over again. Like Four Brothers all over again. Sorry, my fol. ;) I'll give Sean a cameo to cheer you up. XD To **Juno Tartini, **thanks for the review! I really appreciate your praise of my work. I use the excessive parenthesis to illustrate the fractured thoughts of Charlise, as backing to her descent into insanity. Charlise doesn't think like a normal person, and I try to highlight that in her speeches and thoughts, and from her point of view. She sees the world in straight and perpindicular lines, and I kind of use a lot of the short sentences to five a better idea of her logic. I know what you mean; I totally understand, but just for Charlise's state of mind I will probably be using a lot of parenthesis. I'll try to make it less confusing, though, Juno! Thanks for the concrit, I really appreciate it. I hope you sort of get what I mean ... I'm glad you love the gang! I love them too! I'd love to meet them all in real life, we'd be great friends. ;) I haven't explained Charlise's leg yet, and it might just SHOCK YOU. ;) I hope you stick around to hear it!

**CHAPTER 14: **To my beautiful **Fol of Specsavers, **AWWWWWW!! I made you feel emotions! I love it. And I love Matt, too. I'm totally on a wavelength with him. I will join you in hugging him, though this Matt would probably be slightly uncomfortable with that, and laugh nervously until you got off him. You need to be gentle; he's like a pony. ;) Thank you, my fol. Your praise, as you know, means so much to me. Thanks again, my Matty. :D To my beauteous **Rat, **you flatter my, my friend. -bows- That is high praise. I'm so pleased you enjoyed my tales of Mattishness. It wasn't supposed to be as dark as it was, but I think Matt had a story to tell, and well, I just went and tried to tell it. I'm happy you liked it. I really am. Enjoy part 2. To **Pisces, **Yay for originality! He he, thank you my dear. Good old non-car crash bereaved Matt. What would be do without him? ;) To **Lazy Lexy, **Aaaaaaaawwww!! Oh, stop it, you'll make me blush. ;) Thank you, my dear. I can't believe how utterly popular my Matty is! Oh my God! I feel so cool, now ... ;) Thanks, hun. I hope you enjoy. To **Katye**, (sorry, I'm too tired to count the letters!!) thanks for the review! Here's your update! ;) Oh, and of course to my very own **Killo, **hope you feel better soon, hun. I really do. ;)

**HOLY SHUGAR ... THAT'S LONG. UGH. ALRIGHT, FOLS ... NOW ... _CAMEO CONTEST!!!

* * *

_**

**THE CAMEO CONTEST**

The rules are simple. You have until the next update 2 updates to give me the wildest backstory you can of any memeber of the IQ team member you prefer. Multiple entries are allowed. Be creative, be hilarious. You know me, I'm easy to please. ;) Your prize will be a WHOLE CAMEO!! So get those entries in, gang! And tell me who you'd like to judge!

* * *

-

**Operation Dixon**: Phase 1: **Reprise**

-

_The only glory in war is in saving others._

-

_When you looked at the world through a phial of blood, it was a bloated, brutal world you saw_.

Charlise knew this. She had done so often, in contemplative moments alone in a laboratory, teetering on the peripheries of adult and childhood. And now, with just one precious phial of blood left, the world seemed more fraught than ever before. It was bright red, trapped in glass fogged from its removal from the refrigerator unit … this wickedly imbued blood. This utter enigma.

The last phial left.

**One hour** since she'd pulled it out and placed it on the work surface. **Three** since she'd come into the lab and hovered, cleaning already sterile surfaces, and vaccinating three rats against MMR. **Four** since she'd fielded Paris's offer of a trip to see the latest adaptation of Hamlet that night. **Two days** since she'd accidentally fallen onto Mello, when a suitcase tripped her up. **Five days** since her last correspondence with Paprika. **One week** since she'd emailed her only brother. **10 days** since Matthew had asked if she was a mafia boss like Mello. **Thirteen days** since she'd found Twix sobbing in a corner on the abandoned top floor over something she wouldn't tell Charlise about. **Eighteen days** since someone had mentioned her true name in conversation, and she had looked up without thinking. **Twenty days** since she'd received the key to the family vault from Takayama in the post, and **twenty-two** since he had left Charlise to save the world alone – it had been a Tuesday.

Mello cleared his throat, and Charlise jumped. A few drops of the precious blood slopped over the side of the test tube, which Charlise hastily replaced into its holder, turning to face the dysfunctional super genius.

'Something wrong, Mello?' she enquired, her testiness barely noticeable, unless you, like Mello, had recently gotten to know the French girl rather well. She didn't look up, choosing instead to glare at the paper towel she scrubbed at her work surface with. He cleared his throat again, studiously examining the sheet in his right hand, taking his time to answer.

'So, your brother is called 'Dixon'? In Wammy's, no less … probably not the best place for a kid who's sister is on the run from MENSA …'

She snatched the page from his hands so quickly that the paper tore, and stared down at the print off from her own email address. It was an email from Roger.

_Dear Ms. Boucher,_

_Recently, a visitor from the organisation MENSA called to Wammy's house, offering a few limited places to some of the brightest children, or those they decided had particular promise. I'm pleased to announce that your nephew 'Dixon' was among this number._

Could Mello see the blood physically draining from her face? Could he see the pale skin bleaching paler? See the light dying in her eyes, the horror in her face becoming more defined with every passing moment?

…_your nephew, 'Dixon' …_

Because it was too dangerous for her even to admit that he was her brother. On the records, she had been sure to prove (falsely, of course) that she was by no means his sister. She had done all she could to distance his name from hers, but _damn it, _it still hadn't been enough. It was all she could do, but even then, not enough. She had switched from Charlise to Saffron, but even then, it wasn't enough.

She tried to focus her eyes to read on, but she couldn't make them move as they should. From far away, she heard Mello's voice, distorted, as though he was calling to her through water. It wasn't for at least ten disorientated seconds that she realised Mello's hands were fastened so tightly around her upper arms that she was bruising.

'Charlise!' he was calling, and shaking her, too … 'Charlise!'

'Mon Dieu …' someone was whispering, over and over and again … it took a moment for Charlise to realise that it was her, and another moment for the head-rush to subside, and leave her standing on her own feet again.

'They're going to kill him,' she said simply, the words flowing from her mouth without conscious effort; a surprise to hear them in the air. She looked up, and saw Mello's face dark with distrust.

'Who? Who's going to kill who?'

'MENSA. They'll kill Dominique, to get to me.'

He flinched at the sound of her brother's true name, but she didn't even remember having said it out loud.

Mello let go of her arms, and pointed a gloved finger at the last phial of blood.

'That's the kid's, right?'

'Yes …'

Mello glared down at her, with no malice in his face – it was the only word for the dark searching look her gave her.

He didn't know why she spent so many hours in this lab staring at samples, writing down gibberish equations in a pillaged assortment of French, English and Latin … he had sat with her, watching her work quite a few times since he had joined this organisation. She didn't mind, because he knew he would never deign to ask questions, or admit ignorance. He would just sit, and wonder, and try to discover by dint of silent surveillance, as he had done many times before.

He hadn't known whose blood it was that she spent her life studying, and wouldn't have if the look on her face as he gaze drifted to the test tube hadn't been so horrified. She was a scientist; she'd made that clear from the start. Everyone knew she was working on something in the lab, but nobody asked too many questions, if they weren't involved. But Mello wanted to know. This was Charlise's game plan, her trump card. And he wanted in.

And if the only way he could get in was by ensuring this kid's survival, damn it, he'd ensure it.

'Pull yourself together,' he ordered, 'and start thinking of a way to save him.'

'It's too late, I can't … I can't go quickly enough. I won't make it in time to save him. Besides, I can't go to Europe. They already have my portrait, I'm on their 'Wanted' list. Everyone knows who I am. If I go, they'll catch me at the airport. That's their plan. And when they catch me, they won't kill Dixon … they'll recruit him. But it'll be their bargaining card. I don't have a choice … I have to go, and give myself up. Give my work up. Fail.'

Her face was glassy, blank. And that same familiar theme was there repeating itself, death before capture, martyrdom before failure.

'Wow, wow, wow, back up. Send someone else.'

'They won't let anyone in. It's like a fortress, now. It would have to be me, to go through the retina scans, the fingerprint scans, the cerebral scans if they're suspicious … they won't let anyone else in.'

'Wammy's House?'

'Of course.'

Mello paused for a moment, perhaps, in some small way, aware that his next words would set the course of his future, and his best friend's; perhaps, in some small, small, insignificant corner of him mind, already knowing that this kid, whoever he was, would seal Mello's place in IQ history, if he didn't die in the attempt.

'They'll let _me _in.'

oOo

Charlise didn't have time to really think about what she'd asked him to do for her until she was lying in bed that night, waiting anxiously for the deadening release of sleep, even if it would be coloured with terror.

Things had been going so well, too … since Takayama had left, leaving new responsibilities and acceptance behind him, Charlise had really started to feel as though she _was _in control. There had only been one more piece of bad news, received from Takayama three days after his return to Japan. MENSA. Broadcasting a search for one Charlise Boucher. It would probably mean yet another name change, but then again, perhaps not … ever her alias wasn't something she generally gave out to the world.

Still. Charlise Boucher, wanted woman … well, it had a nice ring to it, anyway. It had only really been a matter of time. For just a moment when she first heard the news, a pang had struck her heart, and the feeling of the cross-hairs of her life drawing tighter again. But she had gone on, much the same as ever … they weren't close, she was safe, and so too, was Dixon.

Dixon. Poor little Dixon. If her parents could see him now, they'd be disappointed in her. Such a sweet little boy, so far from his only family, his one sister – stuck in an orphanage, because it just wasn't safe around here. Around here, he could _never_ be normal.

_I'm so sorry, maman, _Charlise thought, staring up at her ceiling, fitted with an exact replica of the Milky Way glowing in plastic stars. What a fabulous way it had been for her and Paris and Twix to completely waste an entire afternoon during a thunderstorm and a power-out. _I'm sorry that I couldn't do more for your son. _

And now, she thought, turning to her right, and curling her knees up to her chest, the child would have to come here – if they could get him out of the place, that was. He'd have to be smuggled over the border, smuggled out of Wammy's, smuggled from under everyone's nose – if an alarm was raised, it would be to their detriment.

Charlise sighed, trying to quiet the raging argument in her mind. She just hoped that Mello's skills of subterfuge were up to scratch.

oOo

_Dixon Boucher, Wammy's House. _Well, a name and an address. It was more than he usually had to go on.

The airplane touched down gently, to a contented murmur onboard. Mello just glanced at the window, into the grey fog of a London morning, feeling something click into place as he did so. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with returning to the country he should have been proud to call home. A satisfaction which came from knowing exactly what his plan was, and how he was going to execute it … to perfection.

The crew began walking up and down the aisles, issuing instructions in high pitched, stereotypically American accents before opening the plane doors, but Mello's mind was miles away. He strode through the airport as fast as possible, no luggage, no bags, with nothing to his name but the few things carried in the pockets of his studded leather jacket. A cell-phone. A few thousand dollars. A gun stuck into his jeans, and the car keys for the vehicle that was taking him away.

He didn't even notice the car model as he mindlessly put it into gear and prepared himself for the journey ahead. He was thinking of the kid he was about to rescue. He had tried to imagine him, a little boy, around ten, he presumed. Charlise had said that he had auburn hair, and brown eyes. Said he was tall for his age … and that he had a beautiful smile. A cute kid, Mello presumed, even if he hated children. Well, one kid wasn't going to kill him.

_Oh, God, Mello_, the blonde boy thought, smashing the clutch up a gear, _don't tempt fate._

xXx

* * *

_I'm moving to Tokyo  
'Cuz I'm tired of San Francisco  
My contracts are finally void  
And I am getting out ...  
- Designer Skyline, Owl City_

* * *

**Get those entries in, folks! I'll be waiting! And enjoy part two!!**

**- Wraithlike xxx  
**


	16. Operation Dixon: Phase 2: Resentment

**Well, then. Hopefully not too much of a gap between chapters there ... hopefully ... Please forgive me if there's a bit of a gap from HERE to the next chapter, but it won't be major, I promise. I'm writing a few one-shots. Don't worry. This is my baby. I love it too much to abandon it. Besides, I had lots yet to say about it. A biiiiiiiig undertaking, it has proved itself to be. My goodness. But I'm enjoying it ... I'm now seriously considering writing as a career. I really am. ANYWAY!! Jesus, Aoife, stop rambling!! **

**This is very Mello-centric. I'm such a tease. ;) **

**Songs: **All These Things That I've Done, by The Killers. The Mello-ness of this song only struck me today.

**Shout out to: **My beauties. By which I mean my reviewers. I laaaaav yaoh. ;)

To **kaaayytteee **(appreciate the one actual spelling of your username that you're getting) ( ;) ) He he he, no I'm kidding. Thanks for the review, hun! I appreciate it! Good old Mello, off the the rescue for his own entirely selfish reasons! :) He he, thanks! To my lovely **Juno Tartini**, glad I cleared that up for you! And I hope you do stick around. It only gets crazier from here on in. The slow burn to insanity ... XD To my amazinlgy amazing **Rat the Epical**, hell yes, it is just an epical word, is epical. ;) He he, yeah, Mello does SUCK with kids. He doesn't do too badly in this chapter, though ... but the kid he encounters is sweet and not easily frightened. We shall see when Dix comes along. ;) Aaaaawwww!! YOU JUST MAKE MY DAY, YOU KNOW THAT??? :) Twix ... hmmm, yes, you shall see. Well done for picking that up abvout Twix, fol! Seriously! I applaud you. ;) Enter the cameo thing! You should! You completely should. You are just a sweetie. You know that? You are. I love your reviews. Alright. Enjoy this one, mai lav! ;) To **Pisc-saaaaayz **(because you're just cool like that) ;) Srsly. ;) OH MY GOD, I LOL'D. I actually did. You combined all of my favourite mangas and animes into one huge pile of awesome. I JUST LOVED IT. It shall be discussed in the results. ;) Good old Mello! I'm glad you think he's heroic, because really he's incredibly self-centred! XD He's hilarious. But it was rather nice of him to go and do it. Thank you so much, my dear. I'm glad you find my work well written! I really hope you like this one too! ;) To **Lexy my Lovely Love, **........ OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU. Seriously, gal-chick you really are just too nice to me. Thanks for all of your outrageous compliments over my OCs, and I'm so glad you like Charlie. I really am. And you're very welcome. I'm glad she appeared into being, too. ;) You ever get the feeling that your characters become so real that you may actually see them walking down the street one day? That's how I feel about Charlie. OH MY GOD, that back story .....!!!!! WOW. Who knew sweet little Cheshire had such a horrifically kinky past??? XD Next chapter, my love! Next one! ;) For my lovely, lovely **Con**, oooooh GOOD TO SEE YOU!!! It really is! How've you been? Message me! And I'm glad you liked m'Matt-ay. I love Matt. I always thought I was more of a Mello, but I seem to understand Matty quite well ... hmm ... I'm not even going to GO INTO THE EPICNESS of your entries, Con. I'm just not going to. BUT I LOVED THEM!!!!! They shall be discussed next chapter. -clears throat professionally- -grins- And as for Mello's hair, it doesn't get dyed for a while. And you'll be shocked by what happens first! ;) Thank you, as ever, Con, for your amazing reveiws. They are ... amazing. XD To **CRdragonPyro**, thanks a bunch for your review!! I'm glad that I'm keeping you interested, I really am! I hope you enjoy this next one!

To **Paula, **who's away in London, this one should be keeping your inbox warm while you're away!! ;) xxxxx

**PLEASE CONTINUE WITH THE CAMEO ENTRIES, DUDES!!!! I LOVE THE STUFF YOU'RE COMING UP WITH!**

**And just a note, if I haven't replied to your messages, Lexy and Rinny Tin Tin and co, I'm really sorry, I promise I'll get to them ASAP!!!! LOVE YOU GUYS!!

* * *

**

-

**Operation Dixon: **Phase 1:** Resentment**

-

_Hatred is just another word synonymous with 'fear' ..._

-

They were crawling out of the cracks in the pavement.

Slouching out the back-alleys of the world.

Clambering from whatever dark hovel they had spent so many years in.

Past pupils. Certainly, they fetched up at some point, in most cases … but usually as only names at the top of gracious emails, or as kind benefactors, or the like. They left a life of false names and care behind when they entered the real world, and most were glad to. The ones that fell fell far. The ones that soared soared to great heights. But they didn't come back.

It was all highly irregular, in Roger's books. And then, if they _did _return, for whatever wildly unusual reason …

… well, they didn't normally leave in a larger party than they arrived in.

oOo

Mello drove fast. It was a habit he had picked up from the mafia. You got used to quick getaways working there … well. Mello had been a kid when he joined up, with a guy to drive for him. He'd usually had a guy to drive him around, really … when he joined he was too young, and he was grew up he was too important.

The mafia times … they had been bad, yes, but not _that _bad. He was slight, so he'd had a heavy, muscle-bound grunt to look out for him. It didn't mean complacency – that was suicide, in the mafia. Your body-guards couldn't watch you all of the time. Mello had killed three guys; two with a gun, and the other with a knife – and those were only infiltrations within the mafia, when whatever body guard in charge of Mello's life was AWOL.

But he'd had a bike too. He wouldn't go as far as to say that he loved the bike; it was merely a method of transportation. But what a method … The mafia … well, it had been sort of fun.

Yeah, sure, he was an adrenaline junkie. Well, it wasn't like he was _getting _any, so why not? Small pleasures – and besides, he wasn't hurting anyone … so why not?

He clocked a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, and tossed his head violently to slew his heavy fringe out of his way, exposing the burned skin to the light. The unkind, objective light that was determined to show Mello just what he had become. He looked away quickly, as he always did, but he couldn't deny that he was disgusted by the reflection. He tried to instead focus on the white expanse of his arms, and the black of his leather gloves, and then on the road unwinding before him. Winchester was about one hundred kilometres from the airport, and it took about an hour and a half to get there, at the speed Mello was travelling. However, traffic had been bad in London and a few roads had been closed. It was going to take something close to two hours and at least a quarter now.

It was dull. A dull, lifeless British afternoon. How boring. Mello had never counted himself as British. He had citizenship of Britain – but it wasn't as though he could ever call that into usage without risking _death_. His citizenship was in his own name.

The passport that he'd gotten through the airport with was marked with the name 'Niklaus Christian Unger', and it told the bubble-gum chewing girl attending the check-in desk that he was German. She had smiled, and wished him in neat, flat German a good flight. He had answered quickly and politely, but without smiling. He had never been a particularly smiley person.

Mello relaxed in the wide, comfortable car seat and sighed. It was a long trip. And the _best_ part was just about to start.

oOo

The place looked … _smaller. _Really, shouldn't it be bigger? He had known every crack and crevice of the place – well, Matt had anyway, and by extension he had too. But even when it was so familiar, it was always sprawling. It took ten minutes to run from the furthest point on the top floor to the lowest point across the other side of the building, counting stairs and doors and other children. The record between Matt and Mello was Mello, in seven minutes, 46 seconds. Matt's was 8 minutes, 15 seconds.

They had never invited Near to join in …

Mello slammed the car door, harder than he had meant to. The noise seemed to linger in the damp air, bright now, with the sun that had emerged from behind a cloud. Gravel crunched under his black boots as he took three steps forward, and realised the gate was open. _Damn gravel …_It had never been that difficult to walk on when he was ten and a tearaway. Granted, he had never worn black leather or silver heels when he was ten.

The gate was open. _That's a shame, _thought Mello, pushing it a little wider and slipping through, taking refuge in the shadows for a moment. _If I was a paedophile, I could cause some serious harm. In my day the children's safety was paramount. _He was getting hang of sneaking around on the stones. It was just like riding a bike. _Well. Paramount with the exception of myself. Oh, and Matt._

A little girl wandered out of a doorway. Not the main door, the one down the hall to the right. The one closest to the old cloakroom. She stared straight ahead of herself, walking slowly, but purposefully towards the gate. Mello watched her, from his hidden vantage point, waiting for some other children to appear. None did.

The little girl kept walking. It wasn't warm outside, and all she was wearing was a nightdress, despite the early hour. Her blonde hair was dressed in pigtails, reaching midway down her back. Mello couldn't seem to drag his eyes away, and moved forward a few paces, the gravel crunching loudly under his boots. The girl didn't even turn her head. She reached the gate of the manor, and slipped easily outside. Mello quickly followed her to the gate, but couldn't seem to make his mouth form the right words. The little girl stared down the long avenue that he had driven up, as if searching for someone. He stood motionless inside the grounds, watching the cold wind pull the plaits over her shoulder, and watching her eyes squint in the force of the breeze. Her little feet, he realised, were bare. She stared, in utter silence down the road, and started, with a faltering step to walk down to the main road. Mello yanked the heavy wrought iron gate open and hurled himself a few paces forward to the girl.

'Hey, stop!' he called. She did so, a look of blank puzzlement on her face, as she stared into his. Her eyes were brown, like Matt's, with the same kind of lustre, but lacking in that spark of awareness. Her face was pale, pale white, with heavy purple lines under her eyes. She was shivering in the thin dress, and she looked sick.

'Hey,' Mello said, uncharacteristically softly. He wasn't a gentle person. But she was like a doll, this kid. 'Hey.' He didn't know what else to say.

She didn't reply, even as he crouched down beside her to sit at her level. She looked back down the road, and pointed.

'Ma mere est arriverai aujhourd'hui,' she whispered, her finger aloft pointing to where her mother would arrive.

_French. Of course she was French. Of course. _

The blonde haired boy looked to the end of the empty road, feeling unfamiliar pity in her heart. He didn't need to understand that much French to know what she had said, and he needed even less than that to know that her mother wasn't coming. In Wammy's, you were lucky if you remembered what your mother looked like.

'Really?' he whispered. The girl turned towards him, wonderment written on her face, as she brought the hand that had been gesturing to the left side of his face. He flinched violently, but gritted his teeth, determined not to move. Through the tough scars, he could feel her gentle rose-petal fingers tracing the line of his face curiously.

'Okay, stop,' he ordered, pulling away when he couldn't stand the gentle pressure of her fingers any longer, shaking his head so the fringe covered it again. She looked at him with speculative eyes. She couldn't be more than eight. He felt slightly ashamed for his abruptness, but Mello didn't like being touched. End of.

'What's your name?' he asked and instantly regretted it. She didn't have one, she was in Wammy's. But anything to fill the silence.

'Claudine,' she replied. 'Et tu?'

'… uh … Mello.'

She reached out again, tracing just one line down his face, to Mello's discomfort.

'May-ló.'

She pulled her hand away and tugged both arms close to her chest, shuddering suddenly.

'Ma mere est arriverai aujhourd'hui,' she said again.

'Okay, Claudine,' he said, hesitantly, standing up but bending over, making a few lost hand gestures, which she followed with her eyes but clearly didn't understand.

'Would – do you want to wait for your mother inside?'

She stared at him, bewilderment clear on her face.

'J'ai peur,' she whispered, shuddering. Mello didn't understand. All he knew was that the sun had dipped behind a cloud and a misting of rain was starting to fall.

'Come inside, Claudine,' he tried to coax, but Mello wasn't good at coaxing. He was good as saying _shut the fuck up unless you want to see the colour of your intestines. _He was good at killing people in one shot. He was good at answering every problem and every general knowledge question that you threw at him. He was good at scaring people and making plans. He was good at being smart and cruel. He wasn't good with kids.

She stared at him.

'J'ai peur,' she said again, quieter, and with more of a tremble, her teeth chattering in the cold.

_Right, _Mello decided suddenly. He was good at being decisive, too. And leaning forward, he picked the child up and let her fasten her arms around his neck, and press her cheek against his shoulder. He tightened his arm around her thin frame, as carefully as though she really was a porcelain doll. She relaxed completely, to Mello's apprehension. He pulled his gun out of his jeans with his free right hand, with that carried her confidently across the yard, no longer caring who saw him or what they'd think of the gun wielding psychopath with the child in his arms.

oOo

Outside Roger's office. The place where Mello had spent most of his childhood in sullen impatience.

He stared at it, as rapt as if a whole world was contained behind the wooden door. They were so small, now. He surreptitiously glanced to the right. The corridor was utterly silent. _For a place full of children, it was silent as the grave. _He hadn't noticed that when he had been young himself, untarnished by the blood on his hands. But this … this was a sad, sad place. You could feel it; a chill in the damp air. He felt uncomfortable. Like the ghosts of many children filled these halls … a few probably did. Mello had known a girl when he was twelve who committed suicide in her bedroom. She had been thirteen. Her name among the orphans was Nightfall, but she had told Mello that her real name was Naomi. She had kissed him; her first kiss. It had been … nice, he supposed. She smelled like oranges.

It had been Saturday night when she did it. She had been Jewish, and it was her Sabbath … they looked for her when she didn't come to dinner. They found her in her bathroom … she had hung herself. She left a note; just a few lines. She missed her mother. She hated being a genius. She was happy, now. And goodbye.

She wasn't the first, and she sure as hell wouldn't be the last. They buried her quickly, quietly. The kids all knew, but they were never told. Mello considered asking Roger where they had buried her, but had stood outside of this door for ten minutes instead, before turning on his heel and slamming into his bedroom. Matt hadn't looked up once, and he had pretended not to see his best friend's tears as he poured over Proust that night. Mello would always be grateful for that piece of discretion.

Mello inhaled sharply bringing him back to the here and now, just in time for a sharp stab of grief to hit him in the heart. He had hardly known the girl who killed herself. But really, there wasn't that much of a difference between the two of them. He hadn't taken his own life … but he was wasting it. Squandering it. Purposefully working to cut it short.

The grief was for himself. Himself and that little girl who had died so early, and for this other little girl who was so bewildered and frightened that she had trusted him, this heartless killer because he had tried to show her a scrap of affection. He had brought her to the empty room she had pointed him to, and put her down on her little bed. She had stared up at him, lost, and he had pulled the covers over her, as gently as he knew how to, and tried to smile, with his twisted face and blackened heart. She had smiled too, and patted his face as if to say _there, there, dear. Everything will be fine_. Then she had obediently closed her eyes, and he had left, closing the door tightly.

The grief receded, as suddenly and violently as it had appeared, leaving him feeling vulnerable and fragile. Anger replaced it quickly; roiling, burning anger. He was angry at this place and those who ran it, who made it such an incredibly and destructively sad place. Screw manners.

Mello pulled his gun out again, feeling the trigger fit almost sinfully well between his fingers, before flinging the door open so forcefully that it slammed off the other wall and strolling into the room, his rage bringing his face into the livid light of hatred, he smiled at the man who was the closest he'd had to a father for a very long time, and watched his face twist in horror at what he'd become.

'Hello, Roger,' he snarled, animalistic, feeling satisfied as he watched the elderly man sink down in the chair.

'Miss me?'

xXx

* * *

_And when there's nowhere else to run  
Is there room for one more son?  
These changes ain't changing me ...  
The cold-hearted boy I used to be ...  
- All These Things That I've Done, The Killers_

* * *

**Hope you enjoy and love me fols! Keep the back stories coming! Come on, I want to hear Paprika's, Paris's, different takes on everyones! I can't wait for them!**

**-Wraithlike xxx  
**


	17. Operation Dixon: Phase 3: Confirm

**I PROMISE I haven't been idle. I actually swear. Life took many sharp and varied twists recently, twists that required my full and complete attention. This baby has been sitting on my shelf a good long while now, and it's being published. And then the next. And the next because DAMN IT I'm finishing this if it kills me.**

**I'll explain. I promise. But at the moment content yourselves with the fact that I'm still here even if only in short bursts. I'm doing my best, loves!!!! :'D**

**This is a gift to you. In exchange for the fact that I won't be releasing mah cameo results for a few more chapters. Trying to get back into the swing of Death Note, because recently I've been writing from personal experience … perhaps I shall show ye sometime. ;) Until my next chapter, to all of my darling readers, and particularly my infinitely patient Lexy (I'LL REPLY I SWEAR GIVE ME TIME, MY LOVE!!!!!!!) I bid you all the happiest of April/Mays. For without you all … well, these words are bubbles of air instead of drops of gold. ;)**

**Song: **House of Wolves, My Chemical Romance. So reliable when faced with Mellocentricia. ;)

**Shout out to: **Everyone. All of you. You're all amazing. I don't deserve your forgiveness!

**DUUUUN-DAH-DUN-DUN. DUUUUUUN!!!!!!**

* * *

**Operation Dixon : **Phase 3: **Confirm**

_D__o and say what you want ... I don't think I'll ever care enough._

**oOo  
**

_Mello had been ten years old when he had made his Confirmation. He was the only one of the orphans to do so, the only Roman Catholic in Wammy's House. When he had arrived, from whatever war torn Eastern Country he had been shipped, his only possession had been the heavy wooden crucifix around his neck, a gift from his mother. _

_Roger had been his sponsor, and had stood behind him at the altar, hearing him make the promise of his faith. It was oddly touching, to see the normally so explosive boy peaceful and quiet, and thankful for Roger's fatherly guidance. It was at moments like this that Roger fully appreciated that he was blessed to have these children to care for._

_When the priest had asked him for his Confirmation name, Roger had listened idly, in a state of beatitude. _

'_Lucifer,' the boy had answered promptly, in his sweet, high voice, still unbroken. It took a moment for Roger to register what he had said. The priest stared at him, puzzled._

'_What did you say, son?'_

'_Lucifer,' the boy repeated firmly. 'Lucifer is the name I will take.'_

_The priest had raised his eyes from the child's guileless blue orbs to Roger's own weary ones, his confusion clear. Why would this child choose a name like that? Wasn't he aware who Lucifer had been? What he had done? Didn't the child … understand?_

_Roger stared the priest in the eye. Something in his gaze made the kindly man look back down at the blonde, angelic child. There was no hint of evil in his eyes, no trace of dishonesty in his eyes. This child was an angel, but one that had not fallen as Lucifer had. And never would, if his heart didn't lie._

'_Alright,' he said, decisively, finishing the rite and anointing the boy with the chrism. _

'_Lucifer it is …' he muttered as the boy returned to the pew, his guardian's hand on his shoulder. The grey haired man seemed to age by the year with every step he took. _

An angel, before the fall_, he thought, signing the cross in the air and glancing up to the stained glass windows at the back of the church; a window to heaven. _God save him from that.

_Roger didn't understand. Even as he saw the bitterness grow in Mello; watched the rancour fill his heart, twining spangled barbs around the innocent heart, he still didn't see the Lucifer in him. Even as he saw the hatred growing, it was still out of place in his angel's face. He never saw it. Ever._

oOo

Golden hair, shining like it was spun from sunbeams glinting softly in the lamplight. Black leather shining proudly in the dull light, encasing the slim body from the tips of his pointed boots up to the delicate skin of his collarbone, beneath his jacket of the same material, wrapped around the fingers clutching the smooth, silver gun as he had once clutched his rosary. Like the boy with the shards of mirror in his heart, his blue eyes shone steel and flames at Roger, and his face was twisted up into an animalistic smile. What was left of his face, anyway. The part that was still face and not just a mat of knitting muscle and flesh, burned almost entirely off.

The angel had fallen. Lucifer he was.

'M-Mello?' _How his old heart pained him! _Roger wished he didn't recognise the boy in his wild man's face. _Good God, Mello …_

The face twisted tighter, a grimace of hate, as the man stalked towards the bookshelves, sliding his gun down the front of his trousers. He pulled a book out at random – The Lord of the Rings – and flicked through the first quarter of it.

'"The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out."'

He laughed derisively, as he tossed the volume aside.

'Ironic, isn't it?' he said, in a voice huskier than Roger remembered it. Mello had had a clear, neutral voice without accent. It sounded like he had taken up smoking, or something. The clarity of his voice had disappeared with his innocence, leaving something dangerous in its wake.

'What happened to you, Mello?' Roger whispered, standing up, and extending his hands towards the man helplessly. Mello glared at his hands until he retracted them, and snorted, tugging the gun out easily.

'Life happened, Roger,' he replied acidly, glancing around the room.

'Far away from here …'

_Was that wistfulness in his voice?_

Blue fire snapped to Roger's eyes, and for the first time _ever _with Mello, even counting the time he'd almost strangled him on the day he left, Roger was … _afraid _of this boy.

'I didn't come here to reminisce,' he said, angrily, striding forward with such force that Roger found himself slumped back in his chair again.

He looked so sulky and resentful suddenly that Roger couldn't control the words. He was still just a child, annoyed that authority still affected him.

'What happened to your _face_?'

_Smack._

Roger panted, shock dulling the pain, though he could feel the bruise blossoming brightly over his check already, where the gun barrel had impacted it, and the heat starting to soak in. He pulled himself back into the chair as Mello let the hand with the gun in it drop to his side. He was scarlet, blue eyes glittering, but the colour was already fading to the pale rage that he was so good at.

'I don't take shit anymore,' he said coldly, drawing himself to his full height, and subconsciously flipping his hair over the deformed left side of his face.

'I want a kid called Dixon. I'm taking him with me. Don't argue. Where is he?'

Roger wiped a streak of blood from his lips.

'Wh- D-Dixon? Dixon Boucher?'

'He's French. Young, red-head … look, you got him or not?'

Roger looked confused, before resolve tightened his features.

'Don't do this Mello. You can't kidnap children.'

'I'll do whatever the fuck I want, okay?! Now tell me where the kid is, because I am _not _leaving this shit-hole without him!'

Roger stared at the angry youth blankly.

'Why are you doing this?'

'I don't answer your questions anymore Roger! I live my own life! I left this place and I did things _my _way! Alright? _My way! _And I've done alright – better than _you _could have!'

Defensive. He was being defensive. True to pattern, it switched immediately to offensive.

'I don't have time for this shit. I have a plane to catch.'

Mello raised his gun and flipped the safety off.

'Where is the kid? Tell me, and I won't shoot.'

Roger watched the space on Mello's chest that had just become visible. The white rosary beads banged against it, a reminder of the child that appeared to have died and left this angry man in his place.

'Mello. Don't do-'

'Don't fuck with me, Roger. Where's the kid?'

'You _can't _just-'

'Roger, _tell me where the fuck the kid is!!_'

The old man buried his head in his hands.

'In his room. 35A. Your old room.'

Mello clicked the safety back on, lowered the gun, cast the old man a dirty look and slammed through the door, pausing only to say, 'By the way, look after your kids better. If I hadn't caught the little French kid she'd be dead by now.'

oOo

35A. That was just ironic.

He'd passed one child on the corridors; a little boy with ginger hair, and a scar running from the corner of his mouth into the hairline over his ear. The kid stared at him as he passed, before muttering, '5'8". Blonde, Caucasian male. Scarred face. Black clothes.'

Mello glanced over his shoulder to see the kid walking around a corner, still muttering feverishly. He didn't try to understand. He had grown up in this place; he was used to creeps with high IQ's. Hell, he was one of them. Still. You couldn't help but pity some of the cases around here. And he was really closer to 5'7".

There is was, anyway; 35A. He'd roomed there when he had arrived. They had to put him by himself because he screamed so hard in his sleep that he scared the other kids. He still occasionally did … that was what the sleeping tablets were for.

He shoved the thought away and stared at the familiar door. There was loud music blaring from inside the room; heavy, scraping music that wasn't rock or pop, or anything like that. Mello frowned. Weird music for a child.

A thumping bass started up, and Mello shifted weight uncomfortably. What kind of kid was this? Sure, it was _Charlise's _baby brother, but even so –

Oh wait. It was _Charlise's _brother. Yeah. Okay. That made sense. Never mind.

He reached forward to rap smartly on the door of 35A, expecting a prompt response.

He didn't receive one.

Wrong-footed, Mello paused momentarily. What? Did someone just try to … _ignore _him? Maybe the kid didn't hear him. That music was loud.

He tried again, greeted once again by silence.

And then, 'FUCK OFF!'

Mello, mafia boss and long-time criminal mastermind, was shocked. Shocked into silence, and shocked into stillness too, standing glued to the spot. Through the silence, he could hear the music switching tempo; the instruments swelling together into something sad. He wasn't listening, though. That anger was coming back. This kid had better hope he wasn't Dixon Boucher. Automatically, Mello's hand went for the handle, black leather squeaking as it twisted the metal, but the lock rattled in vain. Mello paused, wrong-footed. Locks? They'd never had locks when Mello was here, probably broaching some widely accepted human rights, but he could understand. They didn't want any cases like Naomi on their hands. Too bad they didn't balance distance with vigilance. But times had moved on, apparently. Mello slammed his fist into the door twice.

'Hey!' he called, his own voice sounding raspy and angry to his ears, 'Open up!'

'NO!' the kid called back, defiantly. Mello ground his teeth, irritated. _This kid had been be friggin' cute_ … But it wouldn't protect him from Mello's rage. The blonde squared up to the door, for just a pensive moment wondering what was up the echoes across the board today. This whole day was just an extended deja-vu.

'KNOCK KNOCK,' Mello said, loudly, before raising a boot and kicking the door squarely in the fragile lock; and the door burst open satisfyingly violently. Mello clicked neatly through the doorway to glare enquiringly around.

He sighed. After all that, it wasn't even the right kid. A lanky teenager with bleached hair stood braced beside his bed as if ready to fight him off. Mello didn't bother giving him a second glance, instead shoving the bathroom door open invasively and searching it quickly.

'Hey, you seen Dixon Boucher around here anywhere? He's young, red haired and French,' he called out of the door, pulling open the bathroom cabinet and scanning the peroxide dye, toothpaste, box of condoms and little cloth pouch that he didn't open. He slammed the door shut and caught a shocking glimpse of his own face in the mirror before he came into the bedroom again. The teenager eyed him warily.

'What's it to you?' he shot back. Mello restrained his anger, snatching up a copy from the desk with 'Dixon' scrawled on it in a thick black flourish. When he leafed through it, it was filled with heavy black lines marking cramped passages; a book full of complex, hand-written musical scores.

'Look, I'm looking for _this kid_,' he said, waving the book, and sidestepping to throw the wardrobe door open, and poking about unenthusiastically. The kid remained quiet. Mello snapped his attention back to him, as he said, 'Why do you care?'

Mello stepped smartly forward towards the boy, who, to his credit, didn't step back, but instead raised his chin defiantly, the two silver snake-bite studs shining there proudly. His skin was pale, as if the colour had drained from it to feed the heavy purple streaks under each eyes. Brown eyes gleamed angrily in the thin face, with just a hint of baby fat around his chin and cheeks.

'What's your problem? Do you know the kid who lives in this room, or not?' he snarled at the boy. The teenager held the icy gaze with his own equally harsh brown eyes, before he ducked his head, inexperienced.

And it was in that disgraced moment that Mello realised that the roots of the bleach-blonde hair before him were **distinctly **red.

* * *

_Well I think I'm gonna burn in hell_  
_Everybody burn the house right down ..._

_And say!_  
_What I wanna say_  
_ Tell me I'm an angel_  
_ Take this to my grave ..._  
_ Tell me I'm a bad man,_  
_ Kick me like a stray_  
_ Tell me I'm an angel_  
_ Take this to my grave ..._

- House of Wolves, My Chemical Romance

* * *

**What can I say? You cannot measure the depth of my apology. Except in love! MEASURE IN LOOOOOOOVE! SEEEASONNNS OF LOOOOO-OOO-OO-OO-OVE! :D**

**- Love from Wraithlike xxx  
**


	18. Operation Dixon: Phase 4: Intrigue

**I'm ... getting there!!! It's the best I can do. I juggle too many things and they start falling and hitting people on the noggin(s) and causing perforations and generally bad things. I mean, Killian can go and do about a thousand things at once without blinking but I AM NOT KILLIAN. I am his better half, as Eoin calls me. ;) Eoin, a dear friend of both of us, and Killian's bestie, which is sweet. ;) But seriously! I feel like such a fail around Killo! Check this. He:**

**1. Plays the piano (HE'S A VIRTUOSO FOR FUDGE SAKE)  
2. Plays the saxophone in the school band  
3. Plays the flute  
4. Plays the organ at mass  
5. Plays the harpsichord (Yes, I said it. THE HARPSICHORD. I didn't even know they made them any more ...)  
6. CONDUCTS,  
7. and sings. Amazingly. As in 147 out of 150 marks in a singing exam. **

**As in got the highest grade in music IN THE COUNTRY on his Junior Certificate. As in ... yeah. As in HE'S AMAZING.**

**But he has very few social skills. Yeah. So beat you there Killobear!! XD Yeah, I'm bitter ...**

**Oh my God. I have to stop the Killian rants. I really do. Moving on. Apparently I'm disturbing people with these, but seriously! You have to admit that he's very interesting!!**

**To my beautiful readers, thank you for sticking here with me. I'm getting back into the swing of things, these people have one HELL of a story to be told, and it's just getting better. ;)**

**TO LEXI, I LOVE YOU. SIMPLE AS. END OF. SORRY I CAN'T REPLY AT THE MOMENT. I'LL GET THERE. SOMEDAY. THIS ONE'S FOR YOU.**

**Song: **Breakaway, Kelly Clarkson. For Dixon, poor pet.

**To my reviewers: YOU ARE COLLECTIVELY MY INSPIRATION. **To **Pisces**, bwa ha ha, you rule! He pwns?? Yeeees. ;) He's coming out veeery different than I had expected. Gah, why don't these characters do what I want?? It happens all over again at the end of this chapter too ... glad you're enjoying, lovely! **Kayte**, bless! :D I'm glad you're enjoying too!! To **Rat, Rat, Rat, my Rat: **Hiiiiii!!!!! I MISSED YOU!! Now, Dixon will DEFINITELY be a handful. My goodness yes, you don't know the half of it! And hmmm ... you're very perceptive! ;) You'll find out soon enough ...HERE'S THE CHAPTER!!! I'm so so sooo glad you're enjoying it, my dear!! To **Pyro**, indeed, indeed you are right! Serious case of deja-vu ... it's like looking in a mirror, so natually Mello is not pleased ... mirrors haven't been his friend in a long time! Thanks for the review!

**STAY TUNED FOLS! CRAZY STUFF GOING DOWN SOON ENOUGH! AND GOODNESS, DIXON IS A HANDFUL!!

* * *

****Operation Dixon : **Phase 4 : **Intrigue****  
**

_If I lash out ... please pull me closer._

oOo

In another dimension, Charlise didn't go by an alias, and neither did Mello. He still had a whole face, and she could still walk. Neither man nor woman were broken, as they were in this world.

In another dimension, they were not separated by mistrust, or fear. In another dimension, Mello smiled freely and openly at everyone, and Charlise laughed with her heart and soul. Mello told bad jokes, and played the harp. Charlise couldn't cook but could draw anyone to a good likeness. In another dimension, they shared a home, and a life. In this one, they shared only a fear of failure, and not even a continent, at present.

Two different worlds, divided by the merest of instants. Two different lives, but both to be lived.

oOo

Mello didn't waste time on the touching meeting that this probably should have been.

'Dixon, right?'

The boy didn't answer, merely scowling harder. Mello found himself looking for vestiges of the little cripple on whose errand he was standing there. Different eyes. Maybe the same hair; it was hard to tell. They were both slim, in different ways. This boy was lanky in the way fast growing teenage boys always were. Charlise was slim in a soft, womanly way, in keeping with her voice but at odds with her devotion to her work. He was tall – unlike her, but their faces were the same shape. And though he had never seen it, he just knew that her face was well capable of wearing that petulant expression.

Mello pulled out the silver phone and checked the time.

'Alright. Here's the deal. Your sister sent me to take you to her. Okay? She couldn't come herself so I came instead. The less you resist, the more likely you are to come out of this with all major limbs and appendages.'

The kid still looked defiant; stonily so. But in the corner of his eyes, the edges of his mouth rested something familiar; something Mello saw all of the time. Fear.

'Does Roger know you're here?' the boy asked, trying to sound sarcastic. He had an English accent, unlike Charlise's strong French one.

'Yes,' Mello replied, honestly.

'Why are you staring at me?' the boy asked suspiciously. Mello snapped out of it, and floundered for a moment.

'I think in your circumstance, most people would be asking why I'm here, and why I'm taking you from this place, but whatever, kid. Take whatever you can carry, and do it quick. You won't be coming back.'

Mello withdrew the half-bar of chocolate he had been cradling since the airport from a pocket and took a long satisfying bite into the creamy surface. The boy watched him, tightening his body as if in anticipation for the fight he could only lose.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he said, licking his lips. Mello suddenly realised the bottom one was swollen, with a nick down the edge. Looked like he had received a fist to the face.

'I don't know who the hell you think you are, or why you're taking me away, but in any case, _I don't care._' The boy pulled a book into his arms clumsily.

'I'm staying here. I turn eighteen in another two years and after that I can leave her without anyone saying a word. Then I can go and live my own life far away from here, doing what I want. Okay? So ... Yeah, thanks.'

The room wasn't Spartan. It looked as though there had been an attempt to make a home out of it. The kid had a blue bedspread, and on the wall behind his bed, there was a poster of a band Mello had never heard of; with four guys grouped solemnly dressed in tweeds and metallic. On the bedside table were books, and pencils. Perched on the windowsill there was a picture frame with a signed photograph inside it. Scattered on the desk were notebooks and pieces of paper. A dream-catcher fluttered lifelessly from the ceiling; missing most of its black feathers. The boy was still glaring at him, his pout only emphasising the fat lip.

'You get in a fight?' Mello asked, without thinking.

The boy fell silent, looking murderous. Mello shrugged, switching his weight with an easy grace that the boy envied.

'Whatever. _I don't care what you say or think_. But I'm offering you a get-out card. If you'd stop being petty and petulant, and listen to some _sense, _I –'

… _some sense, I could help you, Mello._

Mello stopped, as the origin of the words he was rabbitting came back to him. Roger. Every time Mihael was being Mello. Until Mihael became Mello, that was. Then the words faded to dusty silence, dusty, disapproving silence. There was nothing Roger could do after that.

'I could get us through this painlessly,' his cool and quick sense filled in. And he hated himself for it, above all else.

He didn't waste time wondering why the spiel was familiar. He already knew. It was his spiel, all over, back to front, inside out. Give the kid a few more years and he might as well be skulking in leather and chocolate. But Mello hadn't had a sister to stop him from going astray. He had been in leather and chocolate already at his age. Which was a sad thought, when dwelled upon too much.

Mello checked his watch surreptitiously. They didn't have long.

'I'm _not leaving,_' the kid growled. Mello glanced up sharply.

'What are you hanging onto here? _Pack your stuff now and we're leaving_. Look, the last thing _I _need right now is some stuck up brat refusing to make things go smoothly for –'

'I have a life here!'

'_Some life!_' Mello roared suddenly, and the kid stopped suddenly. Mello decided shock tactics were necessary, and in a swift, fluid motion he grasped the golden fringe, pushing it roughly over his forehead, revealing the burn he wouldn't ever learn to look past.

'This is me! I was _you._ I'm not here to protect you out of the good of my heart, because frankly, I don't give a _fuck _whether or not you live or die, but your sister does. And I'm here on her errand, because if you don't come, and don't come _now, _then you'll be the one in trouble because I am more than adept at saving myself. You have a life here? Good for you. If you want to go on having a life _anywhere, _get your stuff now because kid, you're on a hit list and we've got no time to spare.'

There was silence for a moment as the boy stared at the burn marring the pale face, before Mello dropped the hair delicately, and cleared his throat, but the boy got there first.

'My sister – what does my sister have to do with you?'

Hoarse voice. Used to shouting.

_Everything, _Mello wanted to say, _in some crude, unimaginable and uncomfortable way, everything. She's intriguing, irritating, intelligent, unfathomable. Everything and nothing. Absolutely brilliant and utterly, utterly hopeless. Both the most inspiring and saddest person I've known. _

'We work together. I came on her request. She –'

Mello quickly revised the 'she couldn't come herself because she's wanted by the police' to –

'- she wanted you to be safe.'

'So she put YOU in charge of my safety?' The boy snorted.

'I don't even know your name.'

'And you won't, until we get the fuck out of here. Now _get packing._'

'No! Get out of here, you scar-faced freak!'

Mello's anger flared and faded. The kid was frightened out of his wits.

'Do you want a shiner to match that lip? Come on. Don't be a tool,' Mello said, gruffly, picking up a book from the shelf and looking around for something to put it in. The blow hit him at half force in the jaw on the right side of his face. His head turned in shock, the skin flooding with heat, and shock increasing his heart-rate. The pain was a secondary response to the absolute and utter shock. The boy was panting, a feverish light alive in the eyes, spots of red lighting in the cheeks. Mello didn't think, tossing the book and grabbing the child by the scruff of his neck, propelling him to the wall. His skull hit it followed by his spine, and he gurgled slightly from the force of Mello's fist in his throat.

Mello looked into the brown eyes, different the Charlise's pale colourless ones, and couldn't help only seeing a spoilt, stuck up brat instead of the frightened orphan he knew the child was.

'You don't hit me,' he said, menacingly, through gritted teeth. 'You respect me as the one who is _saving your worthless life_. Now get out there and put something into a bag. _Now. _Scar-face, huh? Original. Well, guys like me don't get scars in cookery class. Now get your ass in gear and pack up your shitty life. You can come with me, or rot here. It's your choice, I suppose.'

Mello stepped back, dropping the French teenager. He stared at the floor a moment, before turning his back on Mello to wipe the tear that had already trickled down his nose. He got down on his knees and pulled a black Vans back-pack out from under his bed. Silently, he started pulling his books into it. Even more quietly, Mello grabbed a schoolbag and dumped out the maths books, pulling in the picture frame. A photograph fluttered to the floor from where it had been resting beneath. Without thinking, he picked it up, to suddenly be face to face with a very happy family. A beautiful flame-haired woman, and a handsome older man with their two children. The woman was smiling winsomely at the camera, holding her little son on her lap; a little red haired boy with brown eyes laughing uproariously, so infectiously even his stiff father had a small smile on his lips. The lines on his brow were smoothed out, and in his hand he held the delicate paw of a pretty little girl, with a serious heart-shaped face, who stared into the camera with pale soulful eyes. A girl who had promised to be every inch as striking as her stunning mama. When Mello went to think on whether or not she had in fact made good on that promise, he couldn't tell. All he could see was her face reading that email, and the feeling of her thin arms under his fingers; the despair and heartbreak in the young face. Beauty in sorrow; an inhuman beauty.

He put the photo into the bag, reaching for something else to stuff the space with; anything to fill that absence she seemed to make in his head; anything to block out the sound of a child's tears hitting book covers behind him.

oOo

It was raining in New York City, and Charlie was staring out of the window in the room which reeked of paint fumes. She was deep in memories marking events of many years ago now. A little red haired boy running through the pages and files that divided her mind. The little red haired boy she had loved as sincerely as she knew how to. For his own sake, for the child she had been with him, but mostly and shamefully, for the sake of her mother. She had loved him for the mother who couldn't.

The door creaked open, and Paris stood silhouetted in the doorway.

'What are you doing in here in the dark?' he grumbled, stepping carefully over discarded cans of paint and brushes which littered the floor, his shoes shiny, his shirt ironed, his slim black jacket spotless, and his perfect face shrouded in his grey striped scarf, dark hair sleek and neat. Perfect, as usual. He paused looking out of the window, and Charlise knew he was gauging what he should do next. He idled just a moment, before sitting on the opposite end of the window-sill to her. She turned towards him, to stare over her knee at him; the one she was able to pull towards her chest. She had fastened both arms around it, fingers tight on the faded blue denim, while the useless leg lolled in the way. She didn't move to pull it away, because she knew that Paris would, as he always did, fit himself around her and her plans. There was a sad and devastatingly beautiful simplicity to this; in the fact that he made things so easy for her; a beam of gentle, helpful light only for her, and not her purpose.

He pulled himself into place easily, retracting and extending opposite legs so that they mirrored each other, the two limbs just barely touching. He didn't have the cat-like grace and ease of Mello, but cats were sly after all. Paris was fresh and alive, reliable, dependable, and assured. But he wasn't without his shadows; his troubles, and woes and memories all too haunting. You could see it in the handsome face; in the depths of those dark eyes; that disturbed look that spoke to her own broken heart. Maybe someday both of these broken hearts could speak as one. Someday …

'Any word from Mello?' Paris asked gently, gazing out into the empty space beyond the window. They were on the 6th floor, a long way from the ground.

'Not a word,' she breathed, pulling her knee closer still. He was quiet a moment.

'I would have gone,' he told her, turning towards her, 'if you'd asked me.'

'You'd have been killed,' she told him gently.

'I would have still tried,' he went on, earnestly. 'Whatever you need, whoever you need … trust me, Char. I'll get it done.'

She pulled her pointed face, lit by the grey skies, from her knees, and stared down those dark eyes with her own pale ones. For a moment, there was no sound except the whistling of their breath, the rain on the windowpane, no feeling except the warmth of closeness and the sudden blooming hope.

'I know,' she said, wishing to speak his name. Wanting him to hear it pass her lips. Afraid of the consequences. 'Thank you.'

'You are welcome, as always,' he replied. And she could hear the same thing in his voice. Read her name in his eyes as clearly as he read his through her own. She could feel the same wordless longing making the air heavy as the rain poured on outside.

xXx

* * *

_Out of the darkness and into the sun_  
_ But I won't forget all the ones that I love_  
_ I'll take a risk_  
_ Take a chance_  
_ Make a change_  
_ And breakaway ..._

_- Breakaway, Kelly Clarkson

* * *

_**TA-DAAAH! Onwards and upwards, as the saying goes ...but God, what's gotten into these characters?!?!?!?!  
**

**Now, everyone wave to Killian! ;)**

**Lots of love from**

**Wraithlike xxx  
**


	19. Operation Dixon: Phase 5: Finale

**After much deliberation, thought and general resignation, I have decided - shock, horror - that after about two years without updates it was time to put this baby to bed. So this is the final chapter, people. Much has happened in this time - I've finished final exams and am starting a whole new phase of life so it only seems right to tie up all loose ends before I start into some new writing. :)**

**My Death Note obsession has waned somewhat, and this, coupled with the huge undertaking of this plot finally got the best of me. I want to thank all of you for reading this far and for all of the support - reviews, favourites, follows. You've all encouraged me so much, and I thank you. **

**This isn't goodbye for good, I'm still going to be around, starting a new project in a while as soon as I iron all of the kinks out. Instead, this is a little rounding off of these characters adventures. Thank you again for all being such wonderful readers, and I hope you've enjoyed the journey. :)**

**MANY THANKS AND MUCH LOVE TO ALL!**

* * *

**Operation Dixon : **Phase 5 : **Finale **

_There's no better armour than the knowledge that **you are loved ...**_

oOo

The kid plucked at his bleached hair with an impressive nonchalance as Mello tugged out his phone to check the time. He was a good-looking guy, Mello supposed, with his fashionable hair, silver piercings, black jeans, brightly coloured sneaker and hoodie. Even if he looked like a junkie, all bruises and pallor and bags under the eyes. But it made him look aloof and attractive to the girls he supposed, when a group of three passed by to stare appreciatively at him. He studiously avoided their gaze, and stared at the floor. Mello thought all of this exceptionally weird. He hefted a bag and strode quickly towards the exit, hearing the boy scuffling softly along behind him; the hesitant sound so at odds with the sharp _tap tap tap _of his own shoes.

Passing Roger's door, the old man stared sorrowfully through the two of them, marking the numerous differences and similarities.

'Don't,' he said simply.

'Mello. Please. You can't kidnap children.'

Mello stared at him. He wanted a witty backhander; he wanted words to wound. But looking at the old man who had given him so much in return for so little, through the hate and anger, he couldn't find the words. Of whatever father Mello had once had, Roger was all he had left.

'I'll do whatever the fuck I want,' he muttered in the end, and shouldered past, pulling the lanky teen along by the scruff of the neck. The old man stumbled, his soft little cry of distress sending bolts of shame through Mello, sounds that reverberated in dreams long after his tumultuous journey to IQ HQ … home.

oOo

The little silver phone started bleeping as he got to the car. With an impatient gesture, Mello unlocked the car and motioned for the boy to get into the passenger seat, which he did with a good deal of sulky trepidation. Mello answered as he opened the back door and chucked the kid's case onto the clean seats.

'Charlise.'

'Mello. I trust the operation has gone according to plan?'

His throat suddenly went dry at the sound of her gentle voice, higher than normal with anxiety. He cleared his throat, slamming the door clumsily.

'Yes, everything's fine. I've got the kid in the car. You weren't doubting me, were you, Charlise?'

Charlise sounded almost as shocked as Mello felt at that unexpected bit of flirtation.

'Of course not, Mello. I know better than that! … but you have Dixon?'

Mello shoved the keys into the ignition and glanced at the kid in the seat next to him. His arms were crossed and he was staring resolutely out of the window at the orphanage. Mello twisted the keys, and the engine purred to life.

'Yeah, I have him.'

'Is he alright?' Her voice was worried, high-pitched. She obviously loved that stuck up brat an awful lot.

'Yes, he's fine.'

Dixon turned suddenly, outrage emblazoned across his young features.

'What the hell? Fine? With this _black eye _and _freak_? Is that my sister? I want to talk to her. Give me the phone. _Gimme the phone!_'

'Mello? What's that noise? Is everything alright?'

Mello struggled with the wheel, phone and teenager in silence for a moment, before striking out with his left hand at the boy, who withdrew moaning into the window.

'Yeah, it's the radio,' Mello lied.

'Are you sure? What sort of sadistic radio do you lis-'

'Oh, look, here's a tunnel … sorry, Charlie, got to go!'

He smashed the keypad until he was sure the call had disconnected and pushed the phone into his pocket.

'I thought,' he said, 'I'd made it clear that fucking with me is not an option.'

The kid didn't answer. Mello glanced over just to be sure he was still conscious, before looking disinteresting away and examining the road before him. It was going to be a long trip.

oOo

'I don't think I've ever seen you so nervous,' Paris chided gently, reaching up to hang a frame on the wall. Charlise stood biting her nails beside the step-ladder.

'Rightly so …'

Charlise looked up into Paris's honest eyes so trustingly that he wanted nothing more than to gather her up and keep her safe.

'Paris … I fear that I will not be the sister he is expecting.'

Paris paused, wrong-footed by her honesty.

'Well, Charlie. Think of it like this. He probably won't be the brother _you're _expecting.'

She frowned down at the bare floorboards and suddenly moved away, to switch off the loud radio.

'I have thought of that,' she murmured, staring through the open door. 'And it worries me.'

Paris shifted to lean more comfortably on the ladder.

'This is no place to raise a child, Paris,' Charlise said, evenly, 'My parents would turn in their graves if they knew the danger I have put him in. It's the only thing I can do, to protect him. I have to try.'

'Charlie, it wasn't your fault.'

'Yes it is. Everything is my fault as everything is my responsibility. This is my crusade, Paris, and I've dragged too many people into it. Too many lives at risk. But, there is nothing I can do about it now. Nothing but care for my brother as well as I can.'

Paris had never met the child who had plagued Charlise's life, but imagined him to be like her; soft, vulnerable, astute.

'Charlise –'

'It'll be my fault, whatever may come to pass,' she said, without hearing him. Paris knew she was far, far away. There was nothing he could do put pull the hammer from where it was hanging on the pocket of his jeans, and get back to work hammering the nail into the wall, and wait for the buttery-blonde girl to return from her requiem for the past.

oOo

At last. The airport. At last.

The slim blonde man unfolded himself from the car, and tossed the keys at a waiting attendant; a girl with papery pale skin and a fringe too heavy for her small face. She blinked at him, and he slipped a bill from his pocket.

'Keep the change,' he told her, offhandedly, and glanced behind. The boy was struggling with the backpack and sports bag; a purple bruise blooming prettily across his pale cheek. Mello swiftly pulled the sports bag from his hand and started briskly towards the airport.

oOo

Their flight was delayed by a half hour; not what Mello had wished for. He was getting irritated, and his nerves were all a jangle. Charlise's brother was curled into a sulky heap a few uncomfortable airport seats away. Mello had been amused by this. Not enough rebellion in him to stalk off, nor enough to excuse himself to wait alone at another gate. Just enough teen rebellion for distance, but with dependency enough to shy from separation.

Maybe this would be easier than Mello suspected.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

His boots shuffled. He couldn't relax. Not that that was anything new, but usually he could feign it, stretched out and luxuriating with a bar of chocolate, but he just couldn't seem to –

Chocolate.

The familiar unease was suddenly recognised. Mello twitched upright, his usual grace somewhat off with the persistent shaking – it always happened when he hit a sugar low. The kid was staring up at him, and for an instant, Mello wondered what he saw. A kid like himself, a little older, a little wiser, a little smarter? A criminal? A creep? A scarred freak?

Mello didn't care.

He turned on his heel and tapped towards the newsagents before him, seeing his reflection in the shiny window. The kid leaned forward to watch him, and Mello smirked.

The chick behind the counter had a nose piercing, and a bunch of safety pins threaded through the holes in her ears. Even she stared.

He slapped down the three Cadbury's bars on the counter, and paid with a hundred pound bill. She gave his change clumsily, and he didn't say thanks; ripped the foil off the first bar before he'd moved two paces, and breaking of a blissfully solid slab, feeling much more at ease; panic easing the tension in his shoulders. Like a crutch; his only one.

He sat back where he had been, finally pulling his pose together; slumped down, legs spread, limbs at ease. Mello owned this place. Without properly looking, he flicked a bar at the kid, who caught it deftly, and stared at it. Mello's smirk pulled higher.

'I'm Mello,' he said, glancing from underneath corn-silk hair.

The kid looked up from the chocolate bar now in his lap.

'No, you're not,' he snorted, putting the bar into his bag, 'You're a psycho.'

The smirk evened to a smile.

'True,' Mello agreed, taking another bite. The silence was suddenly a lot more comfortable.

oOo

The kid fell asleep on the plane. Mello watched him, slumped into the wall of the plane, his crudely bleached hair falling gently over his face, bereft of its usual gel. He looked much younger; much more approachable; but even so. He couldn't see Charlise in him.

The lights on the plane were dimmed; it was quiet onboard. The flight wasn't very full. Mello pulled out his small silver phone, without bothering to glance surreptitiously around. He keyed in IQ's number easily; there were perks to being a genius after all. After about six rings, the blonde twin girl answered.

'Well, hello stranger!' Mello could almost see the grin and smell the chewing gum.

'I want to talk to Charlise.'

'Aren't you just full of the joys of spring?'

He bit back his impatience. _Can't you see I have no interest in talking to you?_

'Yes. As usual. Charlise.'

'She's here … somewhere … hmm, what'll you give me if I get her?' the girl giggled flirtatiously. Mello was well capable of flirting back – Mello got what he wanted. But right now the idea of it turned his stomach.

'Get me Charlise _now_.'

He could hear her pouting, and the _click _of being put on hold. He'd pay, but his word was too important to ignore.

Charlise's alarmed voice filled his ears a moment later.

'Mello? Is something wrong?'

'No, no,' he assured, his tone gentler. 'No. Kid's asleep beside me on the plane. Thought you'd want to know. You're attached to him, though God alone knows why. Kid's a creep.'

She laughed, unexpectedly.

'C'est la poêle qui se moque du chaudron,' she chided gently. He pressed the phone closer.

'I don't understand,' he admitted.

'That's the kettle calling the pot black, is how you'd say it.'

'Are you calling me a creep?'

'I might be.'

'If you weren't Charlise Boucher and I wasn't on your side … well, I'd take those as fighting words.'

'Don't worry … I'm not Charlise Boucher.'

For a moment Mello let his mind skate across the possibilities of her real name; Jacqueline, Eleanor, Sara, Yvonne … Names unlike her. It was funny. Charlise was more who she was than any other title he could think of. Instead of telling her this, he changed the subject, more awkwardly than was the norm.

'We should be home in about six hours, all in all,' he told her, glancing behind. No air hostess to be seen.

'May I speak to Dixon?'

How eager her voice was.

'He's asleep,' Mello told her, watching the kid snuffle gently mid dream. Charlise hummed gently down the phone.

'Oui. Don't wake him. Is it well?'

'Yes. It's well.'

'No trouble in the airport?'

'Not a whisper.'

There was silence for a moment.

'Mello?'

'Yes, Charlise?'

'I can never thank you enough for this. I owe you more than I can say.'

'Don't say that. Guys like me, we act on those kind of debts.'

'Guys like you are one in 6 billion.'

'You flatter me.'

'Not really. It's something to be grateful for.'

He smiled, and heard a shrill American voice behind him.

'I should go,' he told her quickly, 'I shouldn't be on this on board.'

'Oui. Thank you, Mello. I will see you both soon. Bon voyage.'

'Bye, Charlise,' he said, and hit a button to end the call. He shifted so that he could see the kid clearer. Pale hair and long lashes.

'Would your brother like a blanket?' the hostess suddenly asked; even her hushed voice startling Mello. He looked up blankly.

'Yes,' he said stiffly, answering awkwardly a question he hadn't been asked. He laid the blanket over the teenager and looked away, averting his eyes. There was something vulnerable about the child echoed in Charlise's face, and tonight it was something he didn't want to have to see.

oOo

A cab back to the headquarters, a new sky-line to amuse the new member of IQ HQ. Another operation completed successfully; unlimited missions stretching ahead of them all. People no one cared for, people who slipped through the cracks. These were his compatriots, these were the people who could only understand each other.

'I see a taxi, Charlie,' Paris told her, his nose pressed to the window. A handsome face, a troubled mind, a heart longing for another. Charlie rose as quickly as she could, hobbling to the window to look, a light of hope shining in her pale, weary young eyes. An ache of anticipation and fear choking her. Far beneath their feet, in the basement of this building there hummed a laboratory full of instruments she would soon make her way down to; instruments from which she would coax a meaning and a solution, because Charlise had never put her mind to something and been unsuccessful. It was true, and she accepted that she might never hear her name pass safely through someones lips again - she might never live to share her heart with someone who could understand and love her in spite of her brain and restrictions and every hang-up and problem she faced. It was true thatit would take a miracle to hear her name - Celeste - in casual conversation. It was true and she knew that she could die any day now but at least she could be assured that someone would take up her fight in her place.

'Let's go to them,' she whispered to Paris, confidentially, and he would have followed her to the ends of the earth. Matt merely smiled as they went past - and his smile awoke her own.

An elevator trip to the bottom floor, where neither said a word, but their hearts beat almost in unison. Twix playing with a skipping rope in the reception, pale and teary-eyed still, but offering a small smile which meant that she'd be alright. Austin far away in Switzerland by now, safe - the way Twix had wanted, the way it ought to be. Another loss for Charlie. The right thing to do. She knew all about that.

The taxi had drawn up by the time they reached the door, and looked out onto the otherwise deserted street. For the two misfits on the steps, this was the only home they could hope for. When two blonde heads emerged from the taxi, birds began singing in Charlie's heart, and a smile - exhilarating, mirthful, light as a bubble and twice as fragile spread across her face and her arms opened wide to welcome them home; to welcome them both back to her.

Mello didn't do homes. He didn't do family. He didn't do responsibilities to other people - he wasn't that guy. He did Kira; he did hunting down, he did threats. But a girl stood on the steps of her building, finally aware that she had all of their hearts on strings held in her hands, and the love beaming in her face extended to him too. And when Dixon left her arms to make his way up the steps of his new home grudgingly, sighing every step, and Paris spoke kindly to him of all the things there were to do and see in this city, he cautiously turned to see if her face was still open and lively; if there might be something there for him.

'Welcome home,' she said, her red hair flashing in the dull sunlight, green stick sparkling.

'Don't be such a sap,' he sneered, walking through the doors with her, feeling her heart beat with hope through his glove as he caught her small hand in his.

Hoping that he had found somewhere that he really was welcome, after all.

**xXx**

* * *

_I've finally made it_  
_I've hoped and I've waited_  
_and for the first time in my life, I don't feel so __alone ..._

_My heart starts to heal_  
_to know this is real -_  
_This is how it must feel_  
_to have a home!_  
**  
**

_- To Have A Home, A Very Potter Sequel_

* * *

**A/N: Farewell to all and I hope you have enjoyed! **

**Love from**

**- Wraithlike xxx**


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